Freak
by CapraParsay
Summary: When Eric is assigned as personal guard to the reclusive daughter of Dauntless' leader, the dynamic begins turbulently. In his ascent to power, he begins to uncover secrets that could secure his place at the top. If only it were that simple. Canon. Eric/OC. One Year Before Divergent.
1. Fascination

Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is almost completely canon as it takes place one year before Tris' initiation, the only difference is initiation begins at age 18 not 16. Eric's character is based off Jai Courtney's representation and if he seems in any way OOC I can assure you it is all due to character development. Please enjoy and review.**

* * *

A twisted smile played on her lips, it proved a firm prison for the bubble of laughter that begged to tear through her throat and fill the empty air. Unbearable heat had exploded in to jets of calm that washed over her and Mila was brought once more in to delicious delirium.

She gazed down at her wrists and frowned, these bindings were doing her nails no good at all. They were much too long, all it would take was a simple nibble and they would be fine again. It was unreasonable to say the least, that she should be denied the right to fix such a problem. These people were mad.

It wasn't the infirmary, father would never dare open her up to such ridicule. This was a far more private institute, somewhere to heal in peace. Mila savoured this sense of Zen, for soon it would be gone, and so would the safety net.

Everything began with the sickness, a churning sensation in the pit of her stomach that rendered the world in to a black and white void. A nightmare she yearned for, this was worse, this was…empty.

Her father's face was a myriad of deepened lines and sallow skin. Each step towards her was slow, dispassionate; it carried the weight of his indifference.

"Where?" he drawled, slumping in to the chair by her bed.

"By the dining hall."

He inhaled sharply, a huff of impatience. _Be gone child, _she saw his thoughts amplified, imprinted on his very person.

"Did anyone see?"

She kept her unusually wide gaze trained on him, never blinking. Mila was aware how this unnerved him, and how her father hated to be unnerved, it soon turned to resentment, which then turned to anger. _Good. Let him fester._

"No. They attacked when I was least expecting. I was powerless to stop it," she breathed softly and smiled again. It was almost feral, purposely so, the canines protruded ever so slightly, small blunted fangs.

His watery stare slid over her weakened form, mouth curling in a sickened grimace.

"I don't want you going anywhere alone."

"Really?" she said, eyes flashing. "You don't want that?"

"From now on you'll be assigned an escort," he leaned in and fixed her with a firm look, no longer the disapproving parent but a powerful figure. The respected and _fearless _Dauntless Leader. "I don't want this happening again."

"We can't have _anything _tarnishing our reputation, can we father?"

"All I want is for you to be safe," he assured, though the words lacked any semblance of conviction.

Mila rotated her wrists slowly beneath the leather straps.

"I'd like to go now please."

Her words fell on deaf ears as he rose from his chair and addressed the nurse who had been assigned to her case. It was always the same woman, a large, bustling lady with a reddened face and keen ears, always straining to catch a new scandal. Janice? Janie? Mila found she really didn't care.

"I will send someone to collect her later," he told the nurse, "Make sure she eats."

Jane…Jackie? Snorted and looked over at Mila who grinned back and snapped her teeth.

"Some'ow I don't think that'll be a problem sir," she grumbled.

In long, striding steps he was gone, the nurse turned to her with wool clad arms crossed over her chest. The thick black material still struggled to contain her heaving bosom.

"Alright freak, I don't want any trouble from you or the dose'll be doubled, y'hear?" she sneered.

Mila was unable to move more than a couple of inches, the hold was far too tight. She remained still for a moment, meeting the woman's scornful gaze with a blank look.

Then she lurched forward violently beneath the unyielding straps, bore her pearly white teeth, and _hissed._

* * *

In an alternate era, it might have been referred to as a 'Gentleman's Club'.

But despite the sweet smoke that permeated the shadows and the array of long limbs reclined around the room, this was not the roaring 20's nor did men sit in suits with cigars and discuss their latest business ventures.

This was The Pit, or rather a subsection of it, at a time when most of the Dauntless had retired to bed. These men sat in plush chairs, gathered in a circular formation as plumes of mist filtered from the end of a wilting cigarette.

Eric drummed his fingers along the black leather surface and smiled languidly at Max's in depth description of stage 2.

"Giant Tulips? You're serious?" he smirked and exhaled a fresh gust of grey.

"I shit you not," Max chuckled, "he was screaming so loud I thought I was going to pop a hernia."

Eric shook his head, eyes rolling as a glass of brandy stopped at his lips.

"That's what happens when you let hippies in to Dauntless, I don't know how you do it."

"It wasn't exactly my decision…?"

"No," Eric set the drink down firmly. "Training, teaching," he waved his hand lazily, "Trying to stop the transfers from shooting themselves in the face."

Max grinned, "Now that was only once, and it's actually pretty cool, like doing it yourself again," he scrutinized the younger man for a moment. "Man you should try it!"

"Me?" Eric arched a brow, "No."

"Why not?"

"They're choosing a new leader this year, _that's _what I have my eye on. Not babysitting initiates."

"You really think they'll pick you?" Max asked and was fixed with a reproachful glare. "No listen, I mean I had to wait _8 years _to even be considered…,"

A new voice chipped in as a younger boy with dark dreads framing his face and a thick metal bar protruding through the stem of his nostrils slapped them both on the back and grabbed Max in a chokehold.

"Don't listen to him Eric," he wheezed as he struggled to keep the leader in a firm grip, "he's just jealous cuz he ranked fourth in his initiation."

"Third actually," Max sneered, rubbing his neck irritably. "And at least I can say I _passed _initiation, just wait till next year Ren. I can't wait to see your skinny ass getting thrown out with the Factionless."

Ren who had yet to undergo his own Aptitude Test, gasped mockingly and fell back in to a free chair, "I'm telling mum you said that."

"Fine," Max shrugged, "I'm a leader now, I could just have you both kicked out."

"You're such a dick," Ren laughed.

"Strike one," his brother warned and was met with resentful grumble.

Eric stretched indulgently and rose from the seat, Ren's surprised voice interrupted him as he turned to leave.

"Hey, where you going?"

"Hank wanted to see me."

"What the hell could he want now?" Max frowned and glanced at his watch.

Eric threw the cig to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot and shrugged.

"Guess I'm going to find out."

* * *

Hank was in the process of massaging rough circles in to his temples when a firm knock sounded at the door that evening.

"Come in."

His wiry form was taut with tension as a familiar figure walked in and stood resolutely at the entrance. There existed the dimmest of lights within the small space, but he'd known who to expect and though the visit instilled wariness within him, Hank was desperate.

"Eric, please take a seat."

A simple black desk kept them a fair distance apart, it was tall, and assisted the older leader as he looked down at the man opposite with what he hoped was a scrutinizing stare.

Eric met his gaze calmly, arching a brow in question when moments passed and still not a word passed between them. Somehow he finally seemed satisfied, leaning back in his chair to speak.

"I have a task for you."

A draw beneath the table was pulled open; his attention was drawn to the sheet of paper sliding along the surface. Eric could only stare at it blankly as he opened it up see what looked like a school grid, not unlike the ones he'd had back at Erudite.

"My daughter's lesson schedule," Hank explained, "You'll find there, subjects, times and any extracurricular activities in between."

"…And…why exactly is it you want me to have this…?"

"My daughter's a very special girl Eric; it won't be long before she begins her own initiation," Hank walked over to a crystal cabinet and pulled out a glass, he then proceed to fill it to the brim with colourless liquid. "Unfortunately being who she is, it seems to have attracted the wrong attention and I can't guarantee she will even make it that far."

Eric watched as the weary leader threw back his head and downed the swirling substance in a fluid motion.

"So your daughter's being bullied?" Eric asked with a daring hint of derision.

"It would seem that way yes, by who, I'm afraid, remains a mystery."

"What exactly has this got to do with me?"

Hank had been in the middle of refilling his drink when the stream stopped, bottle pausing in mid-air. He fixed the younger man with a strict azure stare.

"I need someone who can keep her safe. We have eyes in Dauntless, so the chances of an attack are slim, but I worry what will happen when she's no longer in the compound."

Eric regarded the man with unabashed shock; this certainly hadn't been what he'd expected. In fact it came to him as a surprise that Hank even had a kid. Was this common knowledge? How had he never heard of this before?

"So you want me to be her what? Personal bodyguard?"

"Essentially, yes."

An uncomfortable pause existed in which Eric questioned the tenacity of the man before him and whether it was worth the risk of calling him out. Hank's own flesh and blood was incapable of the most basic self-defence? What the hell did he expect when it came to initiation?

He could not contain his ire however, as he looked down at the flimsy paper.

_8.00am: Breakfast_

_8.45am: Carpool_

_9.00: Registration…_

"I don't have the time to-"

"You're going up for leadership this year, am I correct?"

Eric's gaze travelled dangerously slow to that of the man before him, fingers whitening against the sheet.

"Yes," he answered, "I am."

"I can't promise anything right now, but I'm sure you can imagine it would work…heavily in your favour should you decide to agree."

Eric wanted nothing more than to snap his fucking neck, and his spoilt little brat too, but it was evident he had no choice in the matter.

"How long will this go on? Until the culprits are found?"

Hank's eyed widened for a moment, it was only for a split second, but Eric honed in on it like a hawk.

"Oh-well-no-it," he sighed, "I'm afraid it won't be that simple. I'm going to need you stay with her until the ceremony."

"A year?" Eric spat.

"11 months to be exact," Hank replied shakily.

He exhaled singularly through his nose, 11 months. It was all that stood between him and leadership. Then he would not have to answer to anybody, especially this simpering fool.

He was halfway to the door when Hank spoke again.

"Mila is currently in our private healing quarters. Janet will escort you there."

"Why is she-"

"It's not your concern," Hank waved his hand non-committedly, "just get her to her dorms safely."

* * *

Janet, it appeared, was a short, rotund oaf of a woman who plodded through the Dauntless corridors with single minded determination. They ascended in to the leader's quarters, a series of archways and subsections, evidently the young girl had a palace of her own already. It was no wonder she was a target.

"Hope you know what ya in for," Janet cackled over her shoulder. "You've certainly got your hands full with this one, that's for sure."

Eric slowed his pace and arched a brow before replying amiably.

"Can't say I'm surprised he's locked her away all this time if she inherited her father's face," he smirked.

Janet grimaced and rifled in her pockets for a rusty set of keys.

"I wish," she muttered, "Stark, raving mad this one is."

Her eyes met his, wide and underlined with dark, purplish circles.

"Absolutely nuts."

She pushed open a heavy steel door, plump face reddening with the effort. The faux infirmary was immediately thrown in to an artificial glow that highlighted the cold, sterile walls and cast sickly shadows on the sleeping figure within.

Eric stiffened; it was not the natural, languid form of a girl cocooned in blankets atop a soft mattress.

This was entrapment.

Mila's chest rose and fell in deep, robotic motions as black leather straps covered the breadth of her wrists, ankles and torso. A floor length dress had bunched up from an earlier struggle, to reveal the freckled brown skin of her thighs; it was such a startling contrast to her weed of a father.

His sharp grey gaze narrowed as he spotted the glimpse of white bandaging beneath the heavy material. The outfit ran all the way up to her chin, swarthy dark silk encasing her arms, but the pale gauze protruded out past her wrists.

Her face was not all sharp regal angles, the stubborn chin and hollowed cheeks he had been expecting. Everything about her from the generous curve of her thighs to the line of her jaw was inherently gentle. The sight should have incensed him, frightened even. It should have filled him with a deep rooted disgust and a vow never to return. This was clearly no ordinary case, and she most certainly was no average brat. Leadership be damned, he should have turned around, and ran.

But fuck if this creature wasn't sensational.

The drug induced haze seemed to dissipate the moment the dumpy nurse lay one finger on her.

Mila's eyes snapped open, and he was struck then with the final oddity, her right eye stared up, blue and bright like a circular sky and beside it her left eye gazed on in a stark contrast of brown. Her crazed stare followed the older woman's movements intently.

Suddenly her pale pink lips ascended like a curved blade, and she was grinning oh so wide, a convoluted grin upon her dark freckled face.

"Jaaaaanet," she sing-songed lowly, a creepy, provocative whisper. "I dreamed of you."

The nurse inhaled deeply and tugged Mila's dress down to a respectable level, the younger girl's expression never wavered. Janet eventually caught her eye, and pointed a thick, stubby finger in her face.

"Shut it freak, that dose had you out cold and you know it. I don't want to hear any more of your shit!"

Mila stared in wonder at Janet's hand, a wet tongue hung lazily on her bottom lip as she followed it up the nurse's arm and back to her face. The smile returned, and her eyes glinted with malice.

"But Janet it felt so _real,_" she pouted, "You were standing right there. Just as you are now. Only…you were different. Your body, it was deathly blue. And all chopped up, severed chunky pieces that wept. But it's okay," Mila nodded dreamily.

"You were stitched together again, like a big ragdoll," she threw back her head and laughed, loud singular laughs that reverberated along the walls.

"HA! HA! HA!"

Janet bristled with anger, though her face had taken on a sickly pallor as she regarded the crazed girl.

"THAT'S ENOUGH FROM YOU!" she screeched. "I'LL TELL YOUR FATHER ABOUT THIS YOU WEIRD LITTLE-" she spluttered, hands grappling at the air. "PSYCHOBITCH!"

Mila's giggles halted instantly. She regarded the woman with a look very much akin to fear and fell back against the hard platform of her makeshift bed.

It seemed to appease her nurse, and Janet approached carefully to loosen the straps.

Suddenly there was a strange sound, a wheezed inhale followed by a high pitched exhale. To anyone else it would have been nothing but an irritating sound. But to Janet it brought to her, the forlorn memories of her fear simulations, she saw once more the sight of an abandoned carnival and in it a lone clown.

Mila continued to breath in and out a light honking noise like that of a clown's nose, _hoh-haw, hoh-haw, hoh-haw._

"STOP!" the nurse roared.

_Hoh-haw, hoh-haw hoh-haw, hoh-haw._

"THAT'S _IT!_"

Janet threw down the steel buckles of the bed's restraints and fled the room, sausage fingers clapped tightly over her ears.

Mila did not stop until the sound of steel on steel echoed around the room as the door was slammed resolutely.

It was this sudden impact, the imitation of emptiness that made her realize she was not alone at all. And that just wouldn't do.

She turned her head; dark corkscrew curls fell haphazardly over her face as Mila caught sight of an unfamiliar figure.

"Who are you?"


	2. Frustration

Chapter 2

* * *

He looked like a silhouette.

Oh Mila could see his face; most certainly she could see every detail, from the opaque hollows in his ears to the inked patterns along his neck.

But somehow the Dauntless attire looked darker on him, and fitted, like it had been made to meld to his very being.

Well it was all good and well going in to detail, what should she describe first, the haunting grey of his eyes? Or the chiselled set of his jaw? _Bo-ring._

Mila snorted to herself and finally, once her brief perusal was over, dragged her odd gaze away and left him baffled at her indifference.

Eric frowned at her imprudent tone; this girl really did need to learn some manners. Despite this, he tried to give the slightest semblance of a smile and moved in to her line of sight to introduce himself.

"My name's Eric," he said, a smooth charming drawl that had had his previous conquests drooling in moments. It wasn't cockiness, not really, it was almost disappointing for him how sweet it had all been, how average. "I've been assigned for your protection."

"Oh fabulous," she yawned and stretched against her restraints, the unyielding leather dipped and delved into her skin before returning to an immobile state.

"Do you think you could possibly remove these for me?"

Suddenly the weight of his assignment felt heavy in his hand, the sheet depicting her schedule now lay crumpled beneath his fingers.

He unbuckled the bonds with practiced ease, though her keen eyes registered no such fact as she jumped to her feet.

And fell instantly on to her face.

A large palm reached down to her, she stared at the faint lines etched in to soft flesh. Mila wondered what on earth he could mean by offering such a random part of his person. Feeling that there was really little else to be done, she inclined her head and bit his finger.

Eric sharply withdrew his hand and stared at the chit in brief shock. Though it soon melted away to something else entirely as he looked down to see the dark indents her teeth had created.

"Do that again and I won't be so forthcoming," he warned, though it lacked the conviction he really wanted.

Mila did not meet his eye, simply stared at the place where his hand had been before rising shakily to her feet.

The dark swarthy material dropped down and swished around her ankles, the dress was conservative in its coverage and yet clung to her like a second skin. Riotous curls bounced against her dotted cheeks, with a defiant glare she snatched the schedule from his hands and looked at Eric with a taunting smirk.

"So why did he send you to me? You must be pretty dispensable."

"Hardly, and believe me sweetheart, there are plenty things I'd like to be doing right now and babysitting you isn't one of them," Eric sneered but still reached out to steady her waist as she stumbled on numb feet. "At least I can see why I'm needed, you're a mess."

Mila edged away from his hand and bore her teeth at him, daring him to try and follow her anywhere. It was a sound technique, one she had developed from an early age to ward off any who came too close.

Eric backed off from the display and shook his head, what the hell had he done to deserve this? She eyed him suspiciously before turning swiftly away. Mila's faux bravado faltered however as she pulled uselessly at the steel door and could not make it budge.

The structure groaned as she threw her back in to the effort and heaved at it, a faint sheen of condensation lining her brow. Finally it all became too much as she huffed angrily and kicked it, Mila fell to the floor in a limbless heap.

Eric walked over calmly and clicked it open without so much as a seconds thought. Mila looked up at him in outrage and balked at the amused arch of his brow.

When they reached her door, which was built in the same sturdy impenetrable fashion as the last, Mila turned to him with her head held high and a cold look in her eye.

The sight might have been almost daunting if she didn't have to crane her neck to do so.

He observed unashamedly the dark caramel tone of her skin and decided that everything she was, it had to have been a result of the mother. All but the single blue eye that noted his lingering stare.

"Yes, well, thank you _ever so," _she sniffed, "I'll see you here tomorrow morning. Oh do you think you could bring me an apple muffin whilst you're at it? Actually make that two, I missed dinner. Oh and a maybe a cup of tea."

He stared at her incredulously. The gall of this girl!

"Well…Goodnight!" she battled firmly with the door for a moment more before slamming it directly in his face.

* * *

"Hank has a daughter?" Ren exclaimed through a mouthful of bacon, the contents of which sprayed enthusiastically on to his brother's face. Max glared at the younger boy and wiped a hand begrudgingly across his cheek.

"Apparently, complete headcase too," Eric muttered.

"Why would he be so open with you about it? If I had a kid in Dauntless getting their ass kicked I sure as hell wouldn't tell anyone," Max snorted and ripped in to his toast.

"But she's choosing next year right?" Ren's brow furrowed, "I think I'd know if I'd spent the last 12 years going to school with the daughter of our…," he trailed off, eyes widening.

"What, what is it?!" Max watched as his younger brother's mouth hung open in shock.

"It can't be," he mumbled, though his lips began to creep in to a smile.

"Well don't keep us in suspense," Eric drawled, a roar of laughter erupted from two tables down as a group of teenagers pelted each other with oatmeal. Rolling his eyes at the commotion, he turned back to Ren who was scanning the hall eagerly.

"Freak," he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What did you just call me?" Max leaned in menacingly.

"Not you jackass, Hank's kid."

"Mila?" Eric supplied.

"Right her," Ren chuckled, "Everyone just calls her freak. Girl never speaks to anyone and she's always moping around in that mourning dress of hers. It makes sense but the fact she's actually Hank's-" he broke in to fresh peals of laughter.

"Oh god, wait until everyone hears about this!"

Eric took action then, grabbing Ren by the collar he jerked him up in a choking grip.

"No. You're not going to tell anyone. Leadership rests on everything I do for the next 11 months, which includes keeping her _out_ of trouble. And I _do not _need you screwing that up."

Ren nodded as his face began to turn a mottled shade of red, never had he seen his friend show such unwarranted aggression. Eric glanced at his watch and released him suddenly causing the boy to fall back and gasp in deep, heaving breaths.

"I have to go."

* * *

Burnished coils had been gathered atop her head and flew angrily against her temple as she paced from one end of the corridor to the next. It threw him again, momentarily, when she turned to fix him with an impatient glare. He'd simply never seen eyes so startlingly odd, they were an unsettling contrast against her light brown skin.

The dress she wore was identical to the night before, he steeled himself for her irritability with a smile and approached calmly to take her shoulder bag. She shied away from him and hugged it protectively to her chest.

"Took you long enough," she snarled.

He gritted his teeth and allowed her to lead the way, snorting derisively as her heavy skirts dragged along the floor.

"It's a wonder you've made it this far when even your clothing is injurious."

Mila shot him a dark look over her shoulder. "I'll have you know this ensemble is a fine example of practica-AH!" she topped forward as her boot made heavy contact with the trailing silk.

A strong arm looped tightly around her waist, she stumbled back in to his chest and gasped in discomfort. Mila squirmed out of his hold instantly and found no resistance; Eric was watching her amusedly when she spun to face him.

"What _exactly_ do you expect me to say when people question your constant hovering?"

"I doubt that will be a problem, from what I've heard you've made quite a name for yourself already," he smirked.

Her mouth fell open with another retort when a furious growl sounded from the depth of her stomach, her expression softened as she looked at him questioningly.

"I don't suppose you…,"

Eric produced three energy bars, they were splayed out in one fist and despite her keen ravenousness, it was impossible not to provoke him.

"That's not a muffin."

A muscle worked in his jaw as he took a slow step forward, he held out the bars but drew back just as her clawed hand reached out. Mila's grappling attempts brought her face inches from his as he smirked down at her teasingly.

A demand grew heavy on the tip of his tongue, a hint of the authoritarian he so diligently supressed. Her movements came to a halt, as she recognized in that moment an unspoken dynamic, he was no longer the nauseatingly charming bodyguard and she was not the bossy charge. Indignation melted from her features as she waited for something, an order, a command.

He said not a word however as the bars were pressed firmly in to her hand, he simply stepped away with eyes trained on hers, a victorious glint in the mercurial depths.

In a desperate attempt to ignore the way her heart pounded furiously in her chest, Mila stormed once more down the empty hall and pried open the wrapper.

"Wrong way," Eric drawled as she charged off to join the others on the roof.

"Excuse me?" she replied haughtily, "I believe the train is this way."

"You're not catching the train; you'll be riding in the car. With me."

"I don't-"

"Hi Eric," a sultry voice emerged from behind, Mila exhaled impatiently as he turned to greet the young woman with a smile.

"Imogen," he said amiably. "Shouldn't you be with the initiates?"

Imogen's eyes slid over Mila's form apprehensively, but her winning grin remained in place as she stepped forward to drum her fingers playfully against his chest.

"Actually Lauren will be taking over from me now, the Stiff and I had a discussion and decided my skills were best served elsewhere."

"His name's Four Im," he scolded, "you know we don't talk about our old Factions here."

"Oh come on," she leaned in closer and gave him a coy look, "You hate him as much as I do, always walking around like he's got a stick up his ass."

Few things riled him up quite like presumption, and boy did this girl excel at it.

"Did you need something?" he asked coldly.

"Well I just wanted to know if you were busy l-" Imogen paused and narrowed her eyes as Mila stared at her with unabashed interest.

"What!" she snapped.

"You have a blister on your…," Mila gestured to her chest area, the older girl looked down to where a thick rubber wad protruded out of her bra.

"That's not a blister you fucking moron, th-, don't touch it!" Imogen slapped Mila's hand down as she reached up to poke the strange floppy bag hanging from her vest.

Eric laughed, a low, uncontrollable chuckle as Mila held up her hands in surrender and shot him a _'whoops'_ grin.

"What, were you raised in a barn?!" Imogen hissed, tucking the breast fillet back in and pushing her bra up as a red blush travelled up her neck.

"I'm sorry; it's just that looks awfully painful, I thought you might need to get it looked at-"

"Don't give me that you sly bitch, you know I always heard you were a fucking weirdo but now I-" a crumb flew at her temple, cutting off any further words.

"Hmm?" Mila asked confusedly, breaking off another piece of breakfast bar and flicking it at the girl's head.

"Stop!"

"Stop what?" _Bam_, one hit right on the noggin.

"ARGH!" Imogen threw her hands up in disgust and cringed away from another airborne crumb, she looked irritably up at Eric.

"Call me when the freak's not around," and with that she stalked off, leaving Eric to turn to the girl who nibbled at the rest of her bar indulgently.

"Can't you just be nice?" he sighed.

Mila arched a brow and followed him to the car that sat parked waiting for them. The haughty expression had returned as he opened the door and waited for her to slide in first.

"Where would be the fun in that?" she smiled wickedly.

* * *

"_Get back in the car!" _Eric growled as Mila arched backwards out of the window, chestnut strands whipped wildly around her face as the vehicle moved in hasty pursuit of the school.

A manic giggle tore through the air as his hands enclosed around her waist to pull her forward only for the momentum to pull her straight back again, the dizzying movement was enchanting.

She shook her head and shifted further out of the window until her hair was almost grazing the road, dainty freckled nose only moments away from being smeared across the road by an oncoming truck before Eric wrenched her back in.

"_Have you lost your mind?!"_ he snarled, stretching over her to jam the close button. Mila's mouth opened with the beginnings of a sneered retort but snapped shut almost instantly.

"Damn, I hadn't thought you'd noticed," she sniffed noisily, wiping her nose in a shamelessly vulgar fashion. "Dropped it it in the hamburger mix when the cooks weren't looking."

Eric's mouth twitched with the semblance of a smile.

"Just think. The entire Dauntless Army feeding on my brains."

"Strangely I'd rather not," he drawled.

A surprised scream tore from her throat, causing both to jump as the chauffer's moustached face appeared at her window.

"We have arrived Madam," he announced through the glass. Mila shrunk further in to her seat and attempted to shield her eyes from his benign gaze. The chauffer sent Eric a look of questioning who in turn shrugged and made a loopy gesture at his temple.

"I can see that," Mila grumbled.

"Right get out, school starts in five," Eric began to assist her out of the seat but was shoved away angrily.

"I don't _need _your help!" she hissed before kicking the door open and storming out.

Both men watched with rapt interest as she neared the school entrance and proceeded to walk straight in to the glass door.

"You've got yourself a handful there Sir."

Rubbing her head irritably Mila glanced around to ensure she had gone unseen, she met their stares with an indignant growl before ripping at the handle and disappearing in a flurry of curls.

Eric turned his gaze away and shook his head as though trying to shake off the inevitable waves of exhaustion to come.

"Just Drive."


	3. Formulate

**A/N: If you started reading this in the past I would refresh yourself on the first two chapters due to the fact I am terrible and have not found inspiration to continue till now…1.5 years later. I promise to be vigilant in updating now.**

**Please enjoy and review.**

* * *

Chapter 3

"How long till the Sprog needs her taxi service?" Max's voice was an indistinct croak as he lay buried beneath manila folders. Eric wrinkled his nose in distaste as he caught the scent of stale parchment, flinging a flimsy file aside he rifled through the mess in quest of another.

"Not for another hour, anyone wanna tell me why the hell these haven't been computerized yet?"

Max brushed the pad of his thumb with a wet lick before flicking through a chaotic wad labelled 'Transfers 82.' "Fuck if I know, I'm just here for the research man you gotta problem with our system you take it to the leader."

"You are a leader you useless shit."

Eric dodged the folder flying at his head with a smirk, watching as Max glared at him with narrowed eyes. "You think I got time to be wastin' digitizing all this crap? You're so bothered just do it yourself man! That is if you got time in between babysitting."

His words were met with an indignant sneer as Eric snatched up 'Transfers 80' and started scanning the contents. "Who even wants this information anyway? This one is from what…20 years ago?" Eric's lip curled as his words were punctuated with the thwack of a dead fly hitting the floor.

* * *

"Leader stuff," Max drawled.

"Don't give me that, I'm not wasting my time here so you can-," the irritable retort never reached completion as Eric stared at the file in disbelief. A pair of dull blue eyes looked up eternalized in their papery prison; it seemed age had done nothing to alter Hank's pathetic expression.

Max noted Eric's silence with a frown, "What is it?"

"Hank ranked last."

"…No fucking way."

"See for yourself, it says right there, bottom of the board."

"How does a kid ranking last even stay in Dauntless let alone become the fucking leader?!" Max gawked.

"I have no idea." Eric studied the older man's photo with stern contemplation, crumpling it in his hand to conceal in his pocket. "But I'd sure like to find out."

* * *

Eric felt ever the loyal guard dog as he reclined back against the hood of the car; the chauffer remained inside bopping his head to some archaic beat no Dauntless would be caught dead dancing to. The window whirred down, "Any sign of her my boy?"

Scanning the coloured array of students filing out of the school doors, he grunted a no before lighting a cigarette, turning to offer the old man a smoke.

"Ah no I think not. The smoke doesn't agree with my raging ulcer," he patted his stomach and smiled, rolling up the glass once more.

"Nice," Eric drawled.

All of the students had piled onto buses or began the walk back to their Faction, sighing exhaustively he flicked the fag onto the ground. A crow sauntered over to the ashy tip and began to peck,

"You won't like it."

The crow lifted its head and squawked angrily at him before grasping the cig between its beak and walking away. Only a couple of steps were managed before it spat the fag out and ruffled its feathers in disgust. Fixing Eric with what he was sure was a distrustful glare.

"Told you so," he smirked.

"Sup."

Eric swivelled to where Mila leaned right beside him, curious amusement in her mismatched stare.

"Were you just talking to that bird?"

"No," he replied instantaneously.

"Hm," she raised her eyebrows and opened the passenger door. "and they call me crazy."

Eric rubbed at his temples irritably, making his way to her side and slamming it shut.

"You ride in the back with me."

Mila groaned far longer than he found flattering.

"I don't see why that's necessary."

He chose to answer her brattishness with silence, and an unyielding stare. Mila held his stare and opened her eyes so wide her forehead wrinkled. Both remained fixed there, staring until tears began to gather and she turned away with a frustrated moan.

Mila rubbed roughly at her face with gloved hands and came to grab the passenger door once more.

"Well that was a good game, can I sit down now."

"It wasn't a g-, you can't," Eric threw up his hands in defeat.

"Fine."

Swing Jazz filled the vehicle with speedy percussion and an oozing saxophone, Eric sat hunched in the back, his hulking frame comically squashed into place, though he hardly saw the funny side. Mila and The Chauffer's heads bopped together in unison as she slapped her thighs to the rhythm.

"Bop Bap Badee do, Badap dam dooooo!"

"That's scat my dear, not quite what we're enjoying."

"I feel the music in my innards," Mila hummed, plucking the Chauffer's hat from his head and rapping her knuckles against the dashboard.

"Oh that's nice," he assented.

Eric rolled his eyes at the pair and looked to where the old man's credentials hung from the mirror.

_Mowbray Sutton_

_Roth Rides &amp; Co_

_Amity_

Well that'd explain the tedious gaiety.

Mila clambered in her seat to peer at him from above the head rest, eyebrows disappearing into the hat's rim.

"Can I borrow your sunglasses, I need to complete my look."

"No."

"C'mon I'm trying to look super cool."

"For you, impossible," he remarked.

"Says the guy wearing sunglasses inside."

Mila watched a muscle work in his jaw, feeling sweet victory as he removed them…

and slid them into his military jacket.

She fixed him with a murderous scowl and turned away, hitting the stereo's eject button so all music came to a halt and the journey continued in heavy silence.

Well, he mused, at least she hadn't hissed.

* * *

Ren had to admit himself disappointed at the turn up tonight, three young men stood before him, and it seemed a pitiful number within the now empty pit.

"Is this all?"

"Nobody seemed to think it worth the time," his friend Saul shrugged. "Say we get enough training as it is."

Ren scoffed, "One class a week isn't gonna get us ready for initiation. We need to work harder."

"I hear you bro," Saul replied. "But what can we do?"

"I overheard Max talking to Eric the other night," Ren came to stand between the three of them, careful to keep his voice lowered. "They're going to be cutting people next year."

"What?!" another face Ren recognized, Lee looked at him now in dismay.

"Dauntless leaders don't want no more pansy's scraping their way in, things are gonna get a lot tougher."

Saul and Lee stood in silence, the colour having drained from their faces. Jack however, the last of them, remained unconvinced.

"We're Dauntless born, we _have _all the inside info we need. I sure as hell know I'm not getting cut."

Ren scrutinized Jack's relaxed gait, cocked brow and smile. His arrogance wouldn't do him any favours.

"Maybe," Ren quipped, "but who says there aren't others who know more, who've trained harder, studied longer. We're Dauntless born, but doesn't mean we're ready."

He looked then at Jack, "We need to make sure we're prepared, than when it's time; we're at the top of those boards."

Jack grinned, grabbing a knife from the nearest station.

"So we doing this or what?"

* * *

Dauntless' leader was in the midst of nursing a bourbon whiskey when Eric's firm knock sounded at the door.

"Yes," Hank sighed.

He watched Eric enter with a face of exhaustion he knew all too well.

"Charming girl, isn't she?"

Having no time for ironic humour Eric made a beeline for liquor cabinet and poured himself a lengthy glass. The chair squealed beneath his weight as he slumped into it. The two men sat in comfortable quiet, Hank allowed the whiskey to sizzle along his throat and warm his belly with mild sips. Eric swirled it around his glass for a few moments in contemplation before downing the contents and leaving it to jitter upon the desk.

"How've you found everything so far?"

"Do you want the honest answer to that question?" Eric returned.

Hank's smile was devoid of the paternal affection one might expect in exchange with a father. Eric's eyes focused in on a photo which hung behind his desk, the wall adorned with copious awards. Hank looked to be younger, ten years perhaps? His face lit with a grin as he shook hands with an Erudite leader Eric recognized from years prior.

The Dauntless general followed his gaze, there was a nostalgic wistfulness in his expression now, he looked upon that moment fondly.

"My first day as a leader, I was thrilled, couldn't wait to get started."

Eric listened acutely, studying every movement, the darting motions of Hank's worn blue eyes.

"You must have been quite something during your initiation," Eric mused, "To excel so quickly."

Hank felt his stare then, he felt watched. "Yes," he muttered. Straightening up and finishing the last dwindling shot of Bourbon.

"Of course, you too could achieve so much," he said firmly, "If you put the work in."

Eric smiled, to Hank a gesture of understanding. In reality, he knew there'd been foul play all those years ago and all he had to figure now was if there were further secrets to uncover.

"Unquestionably."

Satisfied, Hank reclined back into his seat and Eric took this as his leave. Lingering in the corridor he traced the metal bars above his brow, the itching inquisitiveness of an Erudite boy remained still. Eric had no desire to risk his chances at leadership, and should he be caught snooping in sleeping matters it would cause ripples he longed to avoid.

But to possess information, especially of an indelicate nature, about the man who held his fate, it would have its uses. Besides, ought he to know a little more about his employer? More so the girl he was to devote his time to?

Entirely convinced in his convictions, he left the main headquarters and started towards somewhere a little more leisurely, a drink, or three, wouldn't be amiss.

Tomorrow, Eric would get Mila to talk. Who better to question than Daddy's little girl?

* * *

Within the shell of a discarded train coach, neon strobes and the echo of trance music had brought it to life, and though the grounded was littered with glass, confetti and booze, it proved a hit for late night raves. Imogen allowed her face to morph into one of disgust as an initiate she'd trained just the previous year gyrated upon her person.

Needless to say, one square kick in the abdomen set him straight.

Well, straight into the bar, preferably broken and bruised.

The impatient glower she'd worn all evening dissipated as a familiar presence came to a stand beside her.

"Did you have to kick him that hard," Eric questioned amusedly.

"Are you surprised?" Imogen retorted, "Can't have scabby little boys touching what's not theirs now can we?"

"No, we certainly can't."

She looked up to where he resided, the window which had now fogged over with gunge and dew possessed a crack in which one could peer out onto the cityscape. Imogen feigned a look, in which she closed the distance between them. She wouldn't tire of drinking in the sight of him, he was every bit a specimen of masculinity. More so than that, he was confident in himself, in his own resolve. Imogen knew she'd be the one to break down his walls, he'd let her in, it was just a matter of time.

Eric set down his beer and smirked at the snug proximity she'd created, sliding his hands around to the dip of her spine he pulled her in. Imogen smiled coyly under his appreciative gaze and leaned into him to whisper, "I wore this just for you."

"Hmm," he smoothed his hands down along her back so softly she might have purred before dragging her to him, their lips a hairsbreadth away from one another.

Imogen brushed her mouth against his, he'd been set upon dragging her bottom lip between his teeth before she murmured, "Where's that little charge of yours tonight?"

Eric pulled away slightly with a groan; she ran her hands along the planes of his chest, willing an answer that might sate her.

"Out of my hair with any hope," he muttered, Imogen smiled against his neck.

"One day was enough; I've got 11 months to go."

"11 months!? Why?"

"It's Hank's wish," he said, indulging in another swig of beer.

"But what does she need you for? What are you doing exactly?"

Eric rubbed the bridge of his nose and stared out of the window's hollow, "I'd like to know that myself."

Imogen desired to press on, but Eric stopped her with a warning look. He arched a brow, circling her waist and pulling her in once more.

"If she's of such interest to you, you could always pay her a visit now," he teased. Imogen slapped his chest and snorted, "No way, that girl is rotten."

She might have seen a falter in his smile, though a wine or two might have conjured it. He was kissing her now, pressing her into the window and grasping her hips with such intensity it'd bruise. Imogen leaned away an inch to slide her hands into his hair and coo, "Go gentle with me, you know I like it slow."

He gave her a seductive smile and inclined his head towards the exit.

"After you."

* * *

Her eyes scanned the pages, drunk in the words but did not process. Mila returned to this book countlessly, telling herself it was the story, the engaging plot, the characters. She told herself to become lost in the pages, but excuses were forgotten at the 24th Chapter.

Some time ago, years in fact, a young girl had placed a photo of her mother within the then pristine volume. Ignorant then that it'd be the only one in her possession, ever. Mila stared down at the child sitting immortalized within the frame; front teeth absent as she stuck out her tongue and grinned at the camera. Her mother kissing her forehead and holding her so tightly, with such love it could not be contained within the image, it captured Mila in a moment, and allowed her to feel if only for a moment as though it were still real.

Reality always oozed its way in eventually, it crept under her skin, it seeped into the veins and laughed icily in her ear.

Mila had relented to weakness, sentimentality, and it all ever afforded her was this same hollow feeling. Closing the book gently, she placed it upon a shelf in which it blended seamlessly with the hundreds of volumes that adorned the wall.

Perhaps next time, she'd summon the strength not to look.


	4. Facade

Chapter 4

**A/N: Hope you're all enjoying so far. Please review with your thoughts, feedback really motivates me.**

* * *

"How was school?"

She sat curled within herself upon the leather seats, hidden beneath a mass of hair. Eric waited for a sign of life, something that might resemble the girl he'd seen before, but Mila had no desire to engage in small talk.

"Nothing to say?" he sighed.

Mila continued to stare out at the moving landscape, releasing a steady exhale like that of a cat in deep sleep.

He caught Mowbray's amused look in the rear view mirror, as though to say 'Teenagers ay?'

"Perhaps you'll be more talkative at dinner tonight," Eric said provokingly.

The evening's sunset cast a warm burnished glow on her curls as she inclined her head slightly, peering at him with that single blue stare. "What?"

"It's about time you start eating with the others," he stated. Her lip curled at the idea, a venomous distaste in her expression.

"I won't."

"You have to start engagin-"

"I said _NO_!" she spat.

Mila faced him fully now, gouge marks etched into her jaw and a marring of bruises along her collar bone, she challenged his resolve with her own wilful defiance. He wanted to ask what had happened, how she'd come to have such savage marks but damn if she wasn't stubborn. It was no use fighting against such tenacity.

"Then we'll just have to eat together," he said firmly, "I'll be there at 7."

They made their way to her chambers without a word; opening the door for her she gave him a dubious look before entering.

"Make sure you're dressed," he grumbled before the door slammed in his face.

Eric tried not to dwell on the fact he'd just sacrificed an evening alone to spend time with the brat, instead he planned his approach in making her talk. This would be a long night.

* * *

Max and Hank were rounding the corner of the corridor of when Eric ran into them.

"Hey man, what are you doing here," Eric slapped Max round the shoulder, looking between the two leaders curiously.

"What-" Eric's words fell as Max shook his head and a group of Erudite leaders came to a halt behind them. Jeanine, the latest addition to the elite watched him with analytical precision, entirely expressionless. One stepped forward to grasp Hank's hand in a firm shake, something that to Eric seemed to mirror last night's photograph exactly. Close cropped grey hair, bespoke suit and a pair of glasses which conveniently hid the hollows of stress. The man was John Ardal, he'd been the face of Erudite for many years, longer than any of his predecessors. Eric had caught glimpses of him as a child of course but never in person.

"Thank you for your time Hank," he stepped away to give their surroundings a sweeping look, pressing a card into the other's palm. "I'll have my assistant PM you with further instruction."

"Of course," Hank nodded eagerly.

Eric remained still as Max too inclined his head in respect; John came to a stop before him.

"You must be Eric," he smiled coolly, "A former of ours. Hank has told me much about you, it's a shame you did not see a future with our faction."

"I trusted the test," Eric replied.

"So you should," John stepped in closer, "I'm sure we'll be working together a great deal in time."

Ardal stopped beside Jeanine, shoving a tablet into her chest.

"Copy these."

Leading them away, the huddle soon disappeared behind another hallway, clicking heels the only indication they'd ever stayed.

"What was that all about?" Eric turned to Max.

"Leader stuff," Max replied, his icy tone could only be jealousy rearing its ugly head. John must have bypassed him entirely. Eric rolled his eyes and joined him in their descent to the food hall.

Dauntless was no place for any ardent lover of silence and solitude, steel cups rattled against the tables, hoots of laughter as two initiates tackled each other for the last steak.

Eric's authoritative shadow cast itself upon them halting their punches, both sunk into their seats as he waited for the crowd to settle. Forking the slab of meat from the empty tray he dropped it onto his plate and left the tongs clattering on the table behind him.

Imogen's eyes lit up as she glimpsed him, beckoning to the seat beside her which had been forbidden to any other. Her disappointment was lost on him as he turned away to where Four was approaching, brows raised at the two plates in his friends hands.

"Two dinners? Hey Eric I know you said you were bulking but…" Four grinned.

"They're not both for me idiot," setting the trays down to grab a jug, "One's for Hank's kid."

Four seemed taken aback, folding his arms over his chest.

"Hank has a child?"

"Yep," Eric popped a chip in his mouth followed by a generous swig of water, "and she's under my watch."

"How old is she?" Four questioned.

"17."

"17! What's she doing up there?"

Eric shrugged, "I'd like to know that myself."

Seemingly down with his queries, Four started towards the table at which Uriah was demonstrating his juggling skills, with tumblers.

"You in The Pit tomorrow?" he asked.

"It'll have to be late," Eric called over the racket. There was a crash of glass behind him, followed by a panicked '_shit!'_

"I'm happy to kick your ass any time."

"In your dreams Stiff," he smirked, leaving the hall behind and the scowl of his seething lover.

* * *

Janet peered out from her perch in the corner of the room; a plaid quilt encased a majority of her body leaving two beady eyes to stare out bitterly. Curling her fingers into the plush cotton, one hand nursing a bowl of chips she released a shivering hiss and sank further into the armchair.

"Isn't there any heating in this place?" Janet grumbled.

Hand paused upon the novel in her lap; Mila looked up slowly with what to Janet seemed an unnervingly blank expression.

"There is."

"Well then bloody well put it on girl!"

Mila smiled, engrossed once more in her book she turned a page and spoke,

"I like the cold," she met Janet's glare slyly; "it suits the glacial void in my soul."

Huffing, Janet bit into a crisp, the crunching, gnawing, saliva ridden sounds ground upon Mila's nerves as she looked up to find her nurse's face set in disgust.

"I thought you'd be partial to the cold Janet." Curiosity had the woman's brow furrowing in confusion.

"After all," she leaned back over the bed, "You are a frigid bitch."

Janet growled and slammed the bowl down on the corner desk.

"Why you little brat-"

"Calm down Janet your chin melts into your neck when you scowl like that," Mila hung upside from the mattress and flashed the older nurse an angelic smile.

"I'll have the cook burn your supper the way you're going," Janet hissed.

"It's a tempting offer but my dinner is on its way up to me as we speak."

Janet's hands fell to her sides as she stood, the quilt pooling to her feet and revealing a squat, dumpy frame. She'd pinned her weathered locks back from her face causing an altogether harsher look.

"What are you on about?"

Mila tossed her book onto a pillow and swivelled to her feet, tiptoeing to the nearest mirror and untying the knots of her dress until she stood unashamedly naked, unkempt coils of hair trailing to the base of her spine. She looked over her shoulder at Janet coyly.

"I'm dining with _Eric _tonight."

"You're never," the nurse balked.

"Mhm," Mila traced the smattering of purples and yellows upon her chocolate skin. To an artist she might be a palette, possessing the potential to evoke either wonder or revulsion. She floated past Janet to where her wardrobe displayed hanger after hanger of long sleeved dresses, all black, all identical. Securing the silken material into place at her waist Mila draped herself over the bed once more and met Janet's scrutinizing gaze.

"He'll be here any second now."

"What's he doing eating dinner with you?" Janet spat.

"Well he is my own personal bodyguard," Mila's smile possessed the hint of a grimace.

"What so he's spoon feeding you too now?"

Mila barked a laugh and crawled further to the edge of the bed where she stopped, nails clawing into the sheets, eyes alight with mischief.

"Maybe," she drew out slowly, "Maybe he'll feed me dessert from his own fingers."

Janet's frown deepened, retreating from the younger girl unwittingly.

"Maybe he'll _ravage_ me after, on these very sheets."

"That is no way for a young lady to speak!" Janet exclaimed, cheeks reddened in her flustered state.

Mila rolled her eyes as she swung her arms up and flumped back onto the pillows, Janet watched suspiciously as her charge remained entirely still on the bed for a few moments and then began to thrust her hips aggressively as she curled her hands into her hair.

"Oh, take me Eric!" Mila moaned with vigour.

"Stop this!" Janet snarled under her breath, "If your father could see you now!"

Mila increased her animated moans at that, cocooning herself in the sheets she rolled from one side of the bed to another.

"Oh take me in front of my father Eric! I've been such a naughty girl!"

Janet buried her face in her hands as Mila continued to roll around on the mattress and flap the duvet ensnaring her like a possessed bird.

"Oooooooohhhhhhh," she squealed.

Having had quite enough, Janet rushed over to Mila and attempted to shake her out of this insipid display, which only resulted in louder moans. It was in that state, the red, sweaty faced nurse violently shaking a blanket clad; screaming Mila that Eric found them. The door slammed behind him, halting their movements and instilling a dismayed silence.

"I, I-urm," Janet looked to Mila, whose wide eyed glee did not reflect her own expression.

"Did you…hear any of that?" Janet asked Eric.

"By that do you mean the possessed screaming?" Eric replied sardonically.

Janet and Mila looked to each other blankly and back to Eric, both nodding their heads in unison.

"Mhm, yes, exactly that," Janet exclaimed with relief.

Smoothing down her apron with the palms of her hands, the older nurse couldn't have been in more of a hurry to leave, bidding goodbye to Eric she exited the chambers with one last lingering scowl at Mila.

"Oh I do love that woman," Mila said bitingly.

"Do you often make a habit of entangling in the sheets together?" Eric approached the large dinner table which resided in a dark corner of the room, one place setting waiting for one lone diner. Setting down the tray he kicked out a stool, grunting at it in invitation to sit.

"Well they do say to experiment whilst young," Mila drawled, earning a look of mild disgust from her assigned protector.

Eric slid a plate towards her, watching as she dived straight in, stabbing the meat viciously and helping it down with a glass of water. He wondered if perhaps she'd stopped to take a breath during this time.

"You seem chirpier this evening," Eric remarked.

"Do I?" she waved her hand nonchalantly.

His eyes narrowed as he observed the cavernous scratches on her neck and jaw, they would scab soon as the skin began to knit together.

"Care to tell me what was wrong," he speared a pile of greens and chewed patiently.

"Nothing," Mila shrugged with infuriating ease, eyes fixed on her plate as she ate like a starved animal.

"Those don't look like nothing," he muttered, but was met with only stubborn silence.

"Who did th-"

"Drop it," Mila slammed her cutlery down and fixed him with a withering glare. Irked but not defeated, Eric averted his gaze and allowed a couple of minutes to pass before continuing.

"Does Hank ever eat with you?"

She shook her head, frizzy waves rippling along her back with the movement; she fiercely blew a strand from her eye and poured another glass. Mila traced her finger along the hard surface, it was cooler than plastic.

"I suppose he's a busy man," Eric mused, watching her intently.

She felt his inquisitive gaze searing into her as she sipped her drink, the icy water a momentary reprieve. Mila knew her continuing muteness on personal matters tickled him; it bothered any who thought to engage with her, and often in the end deterred them.

"Has he always been so distant?" he pressed on.

The halting flash of a father integral in her childhood caused Mila's head to shake once, left, right. Eric's interest was piqued further; she felt her lip curl into a snarl as he watched her like a circus attraction.

"What changed?" he spoke quietly, trying to gage her limits he treaded carefully.

The remaining scraps of food were dragged around her plate whilst she sat lost in a memory he longed to pry apart.

"Power," Mila's voice was but a whisper as she pushed away from the table, rocking slightly as she drew her knees up to her chest.

Eric was making progress but he needed details, specifics, these fleeting words would do nothing to secure him a secret, something incriminatory. What was Hank hiding?

"Why-"

"It'll take more than small talk for them to make you a leader you know," she cut in.

Mila was staring at him directly now, eyes narrowed, her lips curled upward in a deliberate smirk. He endeavoured to brush over that look; she was just a naïve girl.

"I didn't mean -" he stopped as she arched a brow, taking a steady breath to clear his mind, to begin again.

"I think you've gotten the wrong impression."

"It eats away at you the greed," she continued as though he'd said nothing. "Have you ever seen someone die?"

Her oddball eyes were masked beneath dark lashes, chin propped on hand she gazed unblinkingly waiting for his reply. Eric shifted in his seat, stare narrowing at the change in inquisition.

"No," he answered tersely.

"Hmm," she leaned away again, perusing his tense stature.

"It changes you," Mila trailed her finger along the table in slow, hypnotic patterns, "You don't even have to know them, you don't need to know how it happened. When you watch someone breathe for the last time, it's personal."

Eric rolled his eyes, she was really off on one now, and she'd seemed almost normal these past few minutes. "and you're saying this because?"

Her expression almost pitied him now, her eyes were intrusive, and he felt irrationally as though she might be seeing into him. Eric looked away, mouth twisted in a sneer.

"Do you want blood on your hands?"

"I'm dauntless," he smirked, "Blood I can handle."

Eric froze as her hand brushed along his palm, his wrist; her thumb pressed into a vein that pulsed in his forearm, her look was open now, inquisitive.

"I'm not so sure," Mila's lips lifted into a soft smile, it caught him off guard, the normality. "You're too good."

He snatched his arm away, shoving out from the table to escape her creepy stare, her loopy fucking nonsense. The glaring light as he moved out of the dining area was startling, though harsh at first it softened to a bright hew he hadn't realized he needed. Eric ripped open the bedroom door and looked over his shoulder to where Mila sat still in the shadows.

"I'll see you at breakfast," his tone was clipped, "Get some sleep."

He'd almost slammed the door shut behind him when he heard her faint voice,

"Goodnight Eric."

Mila watched his knuckles tighten on the handle; his steely gaze seemed illuminated in the darkness.

"Goodnight Mila."

* * *

"Now this is more like it!" Ren grinned at Saul as Lee dodged a square punch from a Dauntless born, one of the many new faces that'd joined them tonight. Both stood in the ring panting, sweat glistening from their foreheads and dripping down in heavy rivulets.

Ten more had shown up tonight, and he counted on ten more tomorrow, with news of the harsher initiation regime travelling fast around the faction everyone was eager to be ready.

Lee's opponent growled as he caught her on the jaw with a hammer punch, spitting hair and blood from her mouth she lunged forward and head-butted him straight on the nose. Lee's agonized scream reverberated off the walls, along with cheers from the crowd, stomping their feet they chanted for more.

She'd been in the midst of a victory dance when Lee yanked one of her feet and dragged her down with him, pinning her to the ground as he drove in punch after punch. The crowd was ecstatic; each eager for their own turn.

Ren watched the display proudly.

They'd grown up together, trained together and now intended to stay together, this was their faction, and nobody was going to get in the way of that.


	5. Feral

Chapter 5

**A/N: Ah I've missed this. Thank you to my lovely readers who have reviewed, favourited and followed, I really appreciate it. This'll be a slow burn but I'm so excited for you all to experience these characters' transformation. Enjoy, share your thoughts.**

* * *

The clock's steady ticking provided an ample opportunity for Mila to tap her foot quietly in unison; on occasion she'd double the pace, for fun. Why fun was a scarce luxury during this class, and as talks regarding the aptitude test increased, she found herself dozing off into a place where foot tapping was quite the thrill.

"But Miss," Mila watched a white cuffed wrist soar to the ceiling, greedy for answers, a true Candor. "Why now? Why do we have to be 18?"

The class perked up, several lifting their heads from the desk to await the answer. Clearing her throat, the teacher's sucked her front teeth to remove the traces of lipstick Mila had been staring at all afternoon. Her navy blue brogues clacked along the marble as she paced the room.

"Before we can explore our genetic pre-dispositions we must first develop basic skills," her bespectacled gaze studied the array of faces before her. Mila smirked beneath her hair as she was missed entirely; she knew her teacher found her oddball stare unsettling.

"Like a creature of the wild, we must be nurtured, guided, it is only once we outgrow these requirements that our aptitudes can be explored."

The Candor pushed on, Mila's smirk soured to a grimace as the boy's voice, demanding of answers filled the classroom's quiet.

"Can that change though?" he asked, "Can someone's aptitude change?"

The teacher had the classroom's full attention now, Mila watched a bob in her throat as she swallowed loudly and began to recite the mandatory details.

"You may choose whichever faction regardless of your resul-"

"What about your actual aptitu-"

"No!" she snapped, the Candor cowered back into his seat. Straightening her glasses, she concealed herself behind the desk and activated the screens that glowed within each student's desk.

"You cannot alter your genetics," she explained, calmer now. "It is said some have tried."

Mila wanted the screen to burn into her eyeballs and permeate her brain with white noise, splinters of wood sank into her skin as she raked her nails down the desk.

"But failed," the teacher finished. A numbered grid of x's and brackets flashed onto each monitor putting an end to the discussion, she removed her glasses and folded them into her pocket.

"You've half an hour to complete the questions using the methods we practiced earlier, begin."

A multitude of tapping noises was all that followed in the passing minutes before Mila felt herself jolted by a violent kick to her chair. Lifting her gaze she snarled at the perpetrator, Jack. A fellow Dauntless born and qualified asshole he thought himself the bane of her existence, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Metal studs embedded in his teeth glared at her as he sniggered,

"Too bad there isn't an aptitude for Factionless, Freak. Cuz that's where you'll be heading."

Mila yearned to tune in once more to the clock's rhythm, to lose herself and his words, but he watched her with bated breath, willing her to react and entertain him with the walking talking Freakshow that delighted so many.

"Or did you think you could stick around," he chortled under his breath, "You'd be out on the first day."

Rolling her eyes, she felt a sliver of green reflect on her skin as the screen chimed with the correct answer. Jack had leaned in so close she could feel his breath sticky on her cheek, her jaw ached with the effort of clenching it.

"Back off!" she hissed, earning a disapproving cough from the teacher who glanced sternly from her desk. A slow smile was spreading on his face now, victorious in her loathing. It was not until the watchful gaze had left them that he spoke again.

"Don't be like that weirdy," he whispered smoothly. Mila stiffened as he dared to graze his hand along her knee, his palm resting on the width of her thigh. "I can always teach you a few th-FUCK!"

His roar of pain broke the students from their reverie as he ripped himself away knocking a desk into the girl behind him. The teacher gasped at witnessing the nasty gash on hand, blood pooling into his palm and streaking onto the floor. Her eyes fell then on the girl beside him, her teeth bared as she sneered up, the tip of her pencil painted red.

"YOU CRAZY BITCH!" he screamed, cradling his hand as the others watched in dismay. Mila's animalistic expression melted away though her glare remained prominent as the teacher rushed to his side, guiding him out in search of aid.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" she looked at Mila incredulously, fear and disbelief twisting her mouth into a grimace.

"Your _father _will be informed of this young lady," she barked before slamming the door.

Placing the pencil gently back on the table, Mila straightened her chair and filled in the remainder of the test in silence. Indifferent to the probing stares that lingered into the last hour.

* * *

She was the last one out again. He'd endured the gaggles of schoolgirls brushing past, giggling as he met their curious looks. Dauntless Borns filtered out at once, sprinting towards the tracks, all but one who trailed behind with a bandaged arm.

Her dress whipped at her ankles as she trudged out of the front doors and stumbled over a crack in the pavement, her eyes were downcast as she made her way to the car. An older woman followed suit, speeding after Mila with her lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

Eric stepped up to question her before she threw her arms around his waist; he stumbled back as she pressed her cheek into his chest and held on tightly. Mila buried her face there, as though seeking comfort and he found himself awkwardly holding her shoulders, bemused by the sudden affection.

"Excuse me!" the lady had reached them now, strands of hair had escaped their neat coiffure and hung over her vexed expression. "Is this girl in your care?"

"She is," he said slowly.

"Well then you can tell your heralded leader that we _do not _permit violence in this school!" she huffed, struggling to conceal her flustered state.

"What are you talking about?" Eric asked, his cold glare had the woman stutter for a moment, before she pointed at the girl in his arms.

"Th-This young lady _attacked _a fellow student today!"

He looked down to the head of curls still nestled into his chest; she exhaled roughly but refused to move from the embrace.

"What did she do?"

"She stabbed a boy in the hand," the teacher gasped.

Eric's eyes narrowed, lifting Mila's chin to ask,

"Where did you get a knife?"

She raised her brows and huffed in response.

"It wasn't a knife, it was a pencil!" the older woman grumbled.

"A p-," Eric rolled his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose; he rested a palm on the small of Mila's back, not so much affectionate as protective.

"Was it provoked?"

"Well I don- That's not-" the teacher stumbled over her words.

"A student in your class stabs a boy with a pencil and you don't even think to ask why?" his question was calm, yet his voice held a hint of warning.

"Odd," he said in answer to her dismayed silence, "I'll make sure Hank is informed."

Eric opened the car door and nudged Mila who obliged with surprising ease, settling in beside her he began to whir the window to a close before a panicked voice stopped him.

"Wait!"

"Yes?" he drawled.

"Perhaps don't…don't tell him just yet. We ought to launch an enquiry first," the woman's tense smile appeared through the open window.

"Yes," he replied, rolling the window to a close, "You should."

Allowing this as his signal, Mowbray stepped on the gas and left the woman gaping on the sidewalk, unsure of what exactly had just occurred.

* * *

John Ardal's office seemed more of a glass dome palace; to many it might have struck them as odd he should be so vulnerable. To Marcus Eaton however, this was a man he knew all too well, and his decadent tastes were expected. The other Faction leaders had long since left their monthly gathering, leaving two old friends and an assistant hovering on the outskirts.

"You should invest in a new wardrobe Marcus, I can hardly tell you apart from the Factionless," John chuckled, biting into a caramel truffle his fingers were dusted with icing.

"I think you're still struggling to grasp the concept of selflessness my friend."

Ardal hummed and loosened his tie, traces of sugar settled on the knot. "Please," he snorted lightly, "16 years that was drummed into me, it's a wonder you didn't leave too."

A delicate cough sounded from the corner and both turned to where a woman sat with a tablet perched on her lap, her lips pursed in distaste.

"Sir, don't you think we ought to discuss further action on the discrepancies found in the aptit-"

"Oh Jeanine my dear do you ever stop working hmm?" Ardal stretched back against his tall leather chair and spun to face her, "Why don't you rest that pretty little head of yours and take the weekend off? We'll speak more of it Monday morning."

Her mouth opened in protest before snapping shut, a wave of irritation flashed on her features before settling for blank. "As you wish," Jeanine bit out, standing from her seat to stride out of the room, tablet hugged to her chest all the while.

"Goodnight Jeanine," Ardal called after her, his voice tinged with amusement.

Her eyes slid over the two with disdain before giving a terse nod.

"John, Marcus," her tone grew cold at addressing the Abnegation councilman. Jeanine exited the room, the door swinging shut behind her.

"Bundle of joy, that woman," Marcus remarked.

Ardal grinned and dived in for another truffle, "Ah yes, but you can't refute her work ethic."

"I should get going; it'll be a dark walk home now the weather's turning."

"Nonsense!" Ardal cried, his mouth muffled with caramel. "I'll have my Chauffer drive you."

As predicted, the sky had darkened to a navy hue, the clouds infused with mottled streaks of peach. It made for an ambient drive though the city, their faces masked behind blackened windows.

They'd stopped at a set of traffic lights beneath the railway bridge when Ardal peered out to the car next to them. His mouth curved into a smile as his gaze settled on a head of frizzy curls.

"Hm."

"What are you grinning at?" Marcus asked.

"Ah?" John met his friend's inquisitive stare. "Oh, nothing."

When he looked back, the car was gone.

"Here's fine," Marcus signalled to the Chauffer.

"Are you sure?" John said bemusedly, "We can take you closer."

"I have a few errands to run."

Both stepped out of the car, John allowed the crisp autumn air to fill his lungs before turning to Marcus with his hand extended.

"Well old fr-"

"Mr Eaton!" an excitable voice chimed in. Both turned to where a girl ran at them, her red cardigan flew out against the wind; the rips in her grey tights gaped open to reveal a series of scrapes. She jumped at Marcus, wrapping her arms round his neck as he laughed awkwardly and stumbled.

"We haven't seen you in ages!" she beamed as he disentangled himself; her eyes sparkled through dirty smudges and knotted hair. "I thought you might of forgot us."

Ardal winced at the grammatical error; he observed her sharp cheekbones and hollowed eyes. She could not have been more than 14.

"I see the clothes got to you," Marcus nodded to her mismatched attire.

She grimaced, "Yeah but it's all too big!"

"I'll ask someone to send more," he patted her shoulder, "It's getting late, be on your way now."

The girl pouted and turned to sprint off before a hand grabbed her elbow.

"Wait," John peered down at her. "What's your name girl?"

"John…" Marcus murmured his eyes uneasy. Ardal's annoyed gaze washed over him for a moment before returning to her.

"Amberley," she jerked a thumb to her chest, unmindful of his stare.

"And when is the last time you had a proper meal Amberley?" his hand had not moved from her arm.

Her eyes darted between the two men; looking to Marcus whose gaze remained fixed on the ground. She shrugged and scratched at her scalp.

"I dunno, a few weeks?"

John slid his palm along her upper arm to squeeze her shoulder, "Well that won't do at all!" He leaned in and looked her earnestly in the eye. "What's say we get you something to eat?"

Amberley seemed hesitant, though there was desperation in her eyes as she swallowed heavily and chewed at her lip.

"I'll make sure to have you back with your parents in no time," he smiled.

"I don't have any," she replied, certain she'd seen that face on a poster or something.

"Well I'm very sorry to hear that," he cooed, "your guardians then."

His hand lowered to the small of her back, she could feel the pressure there, urging her into the car. With it the craving pangs in her stomach, it growled as though answering on instinct. Amberley nodded timidly, Ardal gestured to the fine leather seats and snapped the door shut as she clambered in.

"John…" Marcus said again, his voice laced with worry.

"Yes?" the Erudite leader had approached the other side, his hands curled into the door handle.

"I-I," he stuttered, words failing for him.

Ardal arched a brow and smirked, lowering himself into the vehicle.

"Take care Marcus."

It wasn't until the car had disappeared into the horizon that he found his voice. But it had come too late.

* * *

The festivities had begun prior to the ranking announcements, in particular the booze. It would aid those desiring a night that would do justice to their victory. It would soothe the wounds of the unfortunate few who'd be working the fence for the remainder of their existence. Initiates stood before the screen, one's sloppy chewing broke the heavy silence before the perpetrator was slapped round the head.

"Ow!"

Hank's words were a distant buzz as each ached to see the screen light up with names, phrases like 'bravery and strength, 'fighting to protect' flitted in and out of their ears. Blah, blah, blah, wrap it up already.

As though by some miracle, there before them appeared a grid which evoked a variation of expressions. A few peeved, many relieved and some downright surprised.

Eventually the grid dissipated and in its place a series of clips, leather clad dancers, striking faces with lime green lips and glittered eyes. A dark visual display to accompany the music that blared through the speakers, initiates grinned as they felt the ground thump beneath them; the party had begun. The next few hours brought with it more Dauntless members and a deterioration of coherent thought.

One merry victor had been in the midst of displaying a drunken flying kick when he launched himself into the outskirts of the crowd, beer flying from his cup and onto a pair of immaculate boots. His grin fell as he looked up to a scowl.

Eric looked down at the bumbling chump, entirely still as the beverage seeped into his shoe. The kid scrambled up, a tirade of slurred apologies falling from his mouth. What he'd not anticipated was mercy. Eric rolled his eyes and crumbled the plastic cup beneath his foot.

"Watch it next time," he muttered, the boy nodded with such enthusiasm it was a surprise he didn't kneel down and kiss his boots.

On the screen a spider had just captured its prey and worked on cocooning it, the imaged flashed to ink buzzing upon flesh and then a pierced mouth laughing silently.

Stirring in the corner of his eye he turned from the screen to see black skirts billowing by the entrance. Weaving through a throng of swaying bodies he turned into an alcove where Mila stood; watching the celebrations from afar.

The song had mellowed down to a woman's breathy hum, the beat continued to pulse beneath their feet, building in intensity.

"Enjoying yourself?" he arched a brow, leaning against the wall on which Mila was pressed. The unkempt kinks of her mane and modest dress a stark contrast to the partygoers who'd dressed to impress.

"Meh," she ran a hand through her curls so they pointed in alternate directions, her eyes landing on the swirling amber liquid in his glass. "Maybe if I had a drink…"

"I don't think Hank would approve of me giving you alcohol."

Mila shuffled closer to him, peering out to where the kid from earlier was now flailing his arms thrusting in the direction of a very unimpressed young woman.

"As long as I don't end up like that I think we're okay," she remarked.

"I'm concerned you'll end up worse," his words tickled her ear as they spied the crowd, his smirk evident as she looked up with narrowed eyes.

"Worried I'll stab someone else?"

"Maybe," his dark eyes alight with amusement, "that or you'll _bite them."_

She bared her teeth in a feral grin, snapping them closer to his jaw until her pushed at her face laughing, the sound was deep and low in his chest and she found it strangely pleasing.

"Eric?" they turned suddenly to where Imogen stood watching them with a wounded expression. He straightened to address her, distancing himself from his charge.

"Imogen."

She seemed unsure of where to start, her wide green gaze darted between the two of them finally settling on Eric with a shaky smile.

"Did you-Did you want to dance?"

He looked back at Mila, who stared at Imogen with open curiosity; her blank expression had the older girl shuffling in discomfort.

"I've got a job to do," he sighed.

"Just one song," she smiled, wilfully avoiding Mila's creepy eyes.

"I can't leave her."

A muscle worked in her jaw as she stroked one finger down his chest.

"I think it's her bedtime, don't you?"

Eric heard an angry hiss behind him and hoped she didn't have any sharp stationary on her person.

"Don't patronize her."

Imogen's hand balled into a fist on his chest, leaning in closer she whispered furiously,

"What is _with _you!? One minute you're all over me and the next you can't wait to get away, or did you think I hadn't noticed you sneaking off the other morning wh-"

"Imogen," he cut in exasperatedly.

"Don't _Imogen_ me!" she hissed, "I'm tired of it Eric, I'm tired of chasing you."

"That's not what-" he stopped suddenly, looking down to where Mila had tilted his hand and was drinking generously from his glass. She at least had the good grace to look guilty when downing the last sip.

Mila shrugged innocently when he fixed her with a cold glare.

"I got thirsty."

He rolled his eyes and turned to Imogen, "Could you leave us please?"

Her mouth fell open, gaping for a few moments before she collected herself and spat,

"This conversation's not over!" she turned on her heel.

"Bye!" Mila called after her cheerfully.

Imogen threw her a venomous look and stormed back into the crowd.

Exhaling heavily, Eric glanced at his empty tumbler and shot Mila an incredulous look.

"Fan of whiskey?"

"I'm more of a brandy girl but hey ho," she parried.

He studied her earnest expression with a furrowed brow,

"And how is it you're such an expert?"

"Hank has a pretty big collection," she shrugged, sneaking a look at the screen where man was in the midst of swallowing fire.

"I'm aware," he said, leaving it a few moments before asking, "Why do you call him Hank?"

Her gaze slid to meet his, the cave wall was rough beneath her palm as she dragged it between them.

"Trying this again?"

Eric wanted to curse her perceptiveness but instead faked nonchalance,

"Is it such an odd question?"

She scrutinized him for a moment before relaxing,

"No."

A few beats of silence existed between them as the party raged on, the music seemed all the more present now, and it pounded in her ears. Eric looked to where Dauntless' latest newcomers stood in a circle chanting as they took turns dancing, the intoxication evident in their thrashing limbs.

Mila's eyes fell heavy as she pressed her forehead against the stone wall, unconsciously drumming her fingers to the beat. Eric might have appeared to others like a large shadow, she only felt his cool breaths steady against her ear.

"Maybe that'll be you next year."

She watched the display; they were at such ease with each other. It was an enigma to her; all of the liquor in the world could never erase the past. Eric studied her fixated stare, it seemed a rare opportunity, like a cautious animal she concealed herself from prying eyes. Perhaps, he surmised, she even trusted him now.

"Do you know?" he asked, her gaze darted to him for a moment before returning to the crowd, "What you want to choose?"

Mila did not answer directly, Ren and his gang had come into view and guffawed loudly when one boy began to chug beer from a large funnel. Even Jack sported a smile as he nursed his bandaged hand; she retreated further into the wall.

"Dauntless," she murmured, "I'm Dauntless."

He'd not anticipated that, somehow a victim of cruelty did not seem apt in a Faction that epitomized war. But there was a certainty in her voice, as though it were all she knew.


	6. Flare

Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you to a dear and incredibly talented friend of mine for making the cover art for this story. Please continue to share your thoughts and theories, and of course enjoy.**

* * *

_Ten and a half months until initiation._

The air he drew greedily into his lungs no longer felt pleasurable but prickly, a sensation of pins piercing the flesh there. Beads of sweat clung to his lips, a damp film that moved with each muscle. Eric's mouth lifted into a sadistic grin as he dodged a punch rocketing towards his face, knuckles grazing against his jaw. Circling his opponent he feigned a yawn, "You can do better than that Four…"

Eyes narrowed on his friend's smirk, Four distracted him with a series of hits to the face and abdominal area before spinning, his leg soaring towards Eric's temple. The man in question deflected it at the last second, any later and he'd been floored. They resumed their sparring, simple attacks that would bide the time until one displayed weakness.

"Is this a fight or a dance," Eric taunted as Four spun out of a potential chokehold and grasped both wrists in an attempt to boot him in the chest. Eric twisted both hands and slammed down on his thumbs, breaking the tenacious grip. Four's kick sent him back a step, but did nothing to dampen his amusement.

"Why didn't you say? I could have worn my best suit."

He utilized Four's exasperation, punctuating his last words with a heavy tackle. It was a dirty tactic that required brawn, and rarely succeeded due to Four's speed and intuition. Today however Eric hurled him up by the armpits and slammed him onto the ground, an internal yell of victory as his friend groaned.

"You're losing your edge," he said cheerily, strolling away to uncap his drink. The water was craved, cool and gone in a matter of seconds. "Ahhh," he exhaled, wiping away the rivulets on his chin with a wide smile.

Short lived was his glory when a pair of hands grabbed his ankles and yanked, sending him crashing to the floor. The plastic bottle wheezed and crumpled beneath his weight, he pushed up onto his knuckles and turned to where Four laughed savagely.

"You're an asshole," Eric muttered.

"I try," Four extended his hand, stifling another bout of laughter as Eric smacked his hand out of the way and pushed up to a stand.

"Is that you conceding?" Four followed his friend and grabbed a towel, raking it through sweat soaked hair.

"It happens," Eric shrugged; his muscles already heavy with a satisfying ache. Peeling of his vest, he shoved it into a gym bag in aid of a fresh one, joining Four out into the hall. Even after all these years his home still looked like a maze, crooked archways and winding paths.

"Did Max tell you about their cutting initiates next year?"

"He did."

The sleepy blue of dawn began to filter through the darkness, casting fragmented shadows through the glass ceiling. A young guard crossed their path, his eyes red raw and crusted with sleet, a victim of his first night shift. Wheels whined against the cemented floor as a stout lady transported baked goods into the empty food hall. Eric pinched a particularly delectable muffin from the display, earning a disapproving pout from the woman.

"Well what do you think?" Four pressed, watching as Eric concealed the treat carefully.

"Of what?"

"The cuts."

Eric scratched his forearm, grey gaze fixed on the bare skin there.

"Seems a little harsh…even by my standards," he added with a smirk. Four nodded, his expression marred with concern.

"Transfers fighting kids who've done this their whole lives?" Eric continued, "They don't stand a chance."

What was known as the control room could be more aptly described as a centre or intelligence base. An entire floor within the compound was alive and active as the city slept; paper thin monitors covered the breadth of every wall. Dauntless workers wore ear pieces, their gazes fixed on the screens whilst reciting addresses, Intel to the fighters in the field.

Larger monitors followed the lenses' eyes as it scanned streets that the Factionless called home, a whiskey coloured cat sauntered into view and hiked its leg upon the underground camera and pissed into the screen.

"Good to know the expenses have paid off," Eric grinned. Four shot him a withering look and held a button on the control board, speaking into the mic.

"D37 we have a fault on 28 street, can we get a replacement there in ten?" pausing he leaned in to add, "and can we make that waterproof, please?"

A muffed affirmative sounded through the speaker before cutting out.

"How do you think Hank's kid will do?" Four turned to Eric, resuming their perusal of the area.

"Do in what?"

"Initiation."

He grew quiet; it was a question he'd been asking himself for some time now.

"For her sake," Eric looked to where a soldier in his command paced the streets alone, "I hope it doesn't get that far."

"Can't she fight?" Four frowned.

"Would I be doing this damn job if she could?"

Four could not repute this, his brows furrowing as he asked,

"A year's a bit much though isn't it? Who is it you're looking for?"

That hit a nerve, he'd been shadowing Mila for all this time now and the answer still came up blank. He thought back to Imogen's outrage, her seething glare as the younger girl smiled entirely unaware of the hate she evoked.

"I'm getting to that," Eric muttered, sliding into a chair and catching Four's expectant stare. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Bit hard when you're in my seat."

Eric's fingers flied across the keyboard before a succinct melody sounded, confirming access. He waved his hand lazily at the man behind him.

"Go boss some newbies around; I just want to check something."

Four rolled his eyes and stalked off, muttering on the unjustness of it all.

Scrolling through the desktop, he watched _Initiation_ skim past and dragged the screen down with his finger. The monitor trembled as he tapped the folder; Eric glanced over to where Four sulked and back to the screen. Each file had been labelled with a T or a DB followed by the date.

"And here I expected videotapes," Eric mumbled waspishly, thinking back to the multitude of paperwork he'd sifted through. Alighting on _Transfers 80 _he selected Hank's name and released an impatient groan when a security measure binged onto the screen.

Eric drummed his fingers on his cheek and typed Dauntless into the box, laughing in dismay as the hindrance disappeared and displayed weeks of training clips.

"Complete tool," he shook his head and double tapped on the first.

Shoving in two micro speakers that resembled ear plugs he cringed at the resounding static. It faded away as the film filled his screen and gunshots sounded chaotically. A scrawny boy with sky blue eyes and a sickly white complexion played starring role in the forefront; Eric snorted as he cocked his weapon and proceeded to hit everything but the target.

A tinkling laugh filled the air, smooth as honey that belonged to a fellow initiate dressed head to toe in black armour. The film had a faded quality to it now that made her unrecognizable on the screen; she lifted the dark reflective goggles from her face, eyes glittering with mirth. A gaping hole existed in the faux target she'd shot at, hits so precise there was no longer a mark to aim for.

She pointed at the boy's arms and then back to the screen, her words indecipherable over the gunfire. Her efforts were rewarded with a scowl as he turned away and continued to destroy the surrounding wall, the recoil on his last shot sent him reeling back onto his arse.

The mystery girl broke out into fresh peals of laughter, hitching the rifle strap on to her shoulder she strolled forward and offered him a hand. Face flushed with rage, young Hank scrambled onto his feet and left her waiting.

Riddled with curiosity, Eric pinched the clip until it minimized into nothing and scrolled through the list of names, dissatisfied he perused the Dauntless Borns instead.

On a whim he hovered over the name _Atala, _and waited for the film to begin. The Pit was almost identical, hardly surprising as Dauntless were not big on furnishings. He almost flinched as a knife came hurtling towards him and disappeared over head, he watched now from a target's POV.

Instinct had paid off, the girl stood poised, catlike before the camera, three daggers in her gloved hand. Atala threw them in quick succession, the twanging steel sent vibrations through the mic. Clattering noises and gruff moans sounded from off screen, some had not been so prosperous in their attempts. An alarm rang out, halting all movements as the trainer waved his hand and signalled them to collect their weapons.

He stopped before Atala, slapping her shoulder and mumbling something to which she nodded, walking towards the camera with a spring in her step. Retrieving her knives she turned to leave but stopped short. Eric felt himself leaning into the screen now, the girl swivelled in place and crouched down so that a pair of curious brown eyes filled the breadth of the monitor. Atala pulled down the black cotton mask that covered her nose and mouth; a damp sheen clung to her dark skin.

Careful to avoid any intrusive gazes she scanned the room behind her before squeezing her face with one hand and sticking her tongue out at the camera. An expression so childish one would never have guessed she'd been the one slaughtering targets only seconds earlier. A copper brown tendril came loose from beneath her headdress, framing her mischievous smile.

Had it not been for her eyes, which were decidedly identical in colour, it might have been Mila who watched him now.

"Who's that?"

Eric jumped in his seat as Four appeared behind him, closing the video and leaning back with what he hoped was an air of blitheness.

"Hmm?"

Four narrowed his eyes, and scanned the screen until he saw Hank's name there. His irritable expression seemed to melt away then, in its place, concern.

"What do you want with those?"

"It's nothing."

"Eri-"

"It's none of your concern Four," Eric bit out, colder this time. Heckled under the weight of his friend's worried stare he ripped out the ear buds and stalked off. Four watched his departure and settled down into the chair, erasing the folders from sight. But he could not remove the nagging feeling that gnawed from within.

* * *

Mila awoke with a heavy guitar solo riding melodies in her mind, the same seconds playing on a continuous loop. A song that demanded to be heard she relented and called out to the empty room.

"Play that one with the guitars at the beginning."

A woman's voice replied the words cold and disjointed, "Specifics please, Mila."

Her bed sheets lay in a damp, tangled mess at the foot of the mattress, heaving a sigh she toppled out onto the floor and began to pile her unruly mane beneath a cap. A harsh yellow light flickered on in the bathroom upon entrance and illuminated her figure; she prodded the bruises on her arms and winced, as though such a reaction should be a surprise. It still evaded her, why she felt the need to touch a hot plate before it was cool, pester her scabs before they were healed.

"You know," she struggled, "the one with the cymbal bit."

"Yes a song with drums, exceedingly helpful," the robotic reply echoed against marble walls.

Mila groaned through her toothbrush, had they programmed her to be sarcastic or was that a result of previous conversations? Humming the tune to herself she searched for a word that might trigger her memory, eyes widening in triumphant glee as toothpaste dribbled down her chin.

"Pihoh tie," she sang wildly and spat out the minty residue. "EXIT LIGHT!"

The bathroom was plunged into darkness as she scrambled for the shower nob, tripping over the bath mat and crashing to the floor. Thrown once more into the light she grumbled to a stand.

"Apologies miss, I see now you meant the song. Is this the one you meant?"

Relief flooded through her body as the first few notes filled the rooms and the electric guitar grew in intensity, oblivious to the shower's icy spray Mila banged her head to the words.

"Yes! This one!" she laughed, slathering her body in soap, the wild dance that ensued splattered the walls with foam. The acoustics did little for her off-pitch wailing.

Bursting out of the steamy room in time for the second chorus, Mila twirled her towel and shimmied it along her back.

"T-AKE MY HAAAAND, WE'RE OFF TO NEVER NEVER LAND!"

"Good lord child put some clothes on."

The music stopped dead in its tracks as she dropped her towel and looked to where her father stood in the doorway, his mouth twisted in disapproval.

"Oh," she placed her hands on her hips and grinned, stark naked, keen to derive pleasure from his discomfort. "Hello Father!"

He coughed and turned away, the irritation emulating from him in waves as he rubbed his temples. Mila's gaze burned into him; ripping a dress from her wardrobe she secured it into place and stalked to where he stood. Hank straightened as he looked down at her, a stern coldness filtering into his stare.

"Have you come to shower me with fatherly affection?" she beamed, a sadistic gleam in her eyes.

"How are things coming along with Eric?" he asked, ignoring her quip.

"Hmm?"

"Is he keeping you out of trouble?" Hank pressed on, seething impatience in his tone.

"I thought he was here to keep the trouble," she leaned in, "away from me?"

His expression remained impassive, though a muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Of course."

"Well!" she exhaled, prancing to the full length mirror and flinging her shower cap across the room. Hank swallowed heavily when her wild curls fell about her face, she caught his stare and felt her mouth curl into a sneer. Any feelings of sentimentality he might have felt dissipated then, Atala had never been so… unhinged.

"He's okay," Mila settled behind a mask of indifference, "Intimidating."

Hank raised a brow, "He scares you?"

"Not me," she snapped, thinking of her teacher's fear stricken expression just days earlier, of how he'd held her indisputably. No, Eric was not a cruel man, he just looked the part.

Mistaken by the softening in her gaze Hank uttered a word of warning,

"I don't want you growing any attachment to him."

Mila laughed in dismay, "What?"

"I know you."

She scoffed.

"I know you might see this as a game," he warned, "but Eric has a promising future here in Dauntless-"

"So wha-"

"I cannot afford a _scandal _in my faction," he snarled.

Mila retreated until she felt the mattress hit her thighs, she sat down slowly, unsure whether the clawing feeling inside her beckoned a hysterical giggle or a scream. How delusional he was. She cringed inwardly at the idea of romantic involvements, plagued with the image of Imogen's possessive glare. No. Mila refused to be weakened so.

"Don't worry," she hissed softly, "I won't touch your precious commander."

He considered her promise warily, thankful that her unnerving stare remained fixed upon the bed, churning the duvet between her fingers. It seemed then that he might take his leave; his hand was poised upon the door handle when he remembered,

"You've an appointment with Dr Abraham tomorrow, 5'oclock. Have Eric take you straight from school."

She did not look up, "I don't want to see him."

"Well it's not up to you," Hank pressed.

"I won't!" she growled, her sudden glare glittered with rage. "I _loathe _him."

"He is the best doctor this city has," he sighed, "your condition-"

Mila stood sharply, his words faltered into silence. Her whole body trembled with fury, she twitched, one eye blinking after another.

"Do not-"

A firm knock at the door sounded.

Hank coughed lightly and spun to beckon the visitor in, an amiable smile plastered upon his features when Eric entered.

"Ah, just the man I was looking for. Mila has a check-up tomorrow, see to it she's taken to Erudite on time."

Eric gave an affirmative nod; an exhale of displeasure tickled his ear as he stood beside her. Hank clapped his hands together and made his leave.

"Be good," he said to Mila, an undertone of warning in his farewell.

Her body crumpled to the floor, her dejected stare anything but the woman Eric had seen her mother to be.

"You'll be late," his voice was deeper than her father's, it commanded without the necessity to. Mila watched him crouch down to her level, he reached out to her, hesitating as she flinched.

She gazed at him cautiously as he moved slower; bursts of sensitivity flared through her skin as his fingers grazed her scalp and combed the hair back from her face. Awareness crept within, of him, of the proximity. Eric did not note her tremor nor the barest flush in his cheeks, he dropped his hand, she felt it brush her ear.

_I cannot afford scandal. _

Eric offered her a lopsided smile and a wink, ruffling her hair like a kid. She watched him stroll away and toss something over his shoulder. The muffin landed in her palms with a soft thump, the aroma of spiced fruits and cinnamon filled her nose, an intoxicating blend.

"Get your shoes on," he threw her bag onto his shoulder and drummed his fingers along the door frame.

"In a hurry?" she asked through a mouthful of muffin.

He crossed his arms over his chest; her eyes traced the veins along his forearms, knitting through solid muscle. Eric shrugged.

"I thought I'd catch Imogen on the way out, explain last night."

Mila swallowed roughly. The apple seemed strangely acrid now.


	7. Flee

Chapter 7

**A/N: I've made a tumblr specifically for my writing now where you can message me, follow progress and perhaps enjoy some sneak previews of chapters. You can find that in my profile. Enjoy the next chapter and let me know your thoughts, I really value them.**

* * *

The thunderous footfall of a hundred Dauntless students clambering for the exit had Mila retreating into her locker as though she might crawl in. They radiated a scent of adrenaline induced sweat and cologne, though the latter was fleeting. Sprinting, they rounded the corner and she felt herself slammed into the wall as the stampede ensued, the lockers rattling under the impact.

An incessant pattern, her Faction prided themselves on being the last in and the first out as though more honourable duties called. Mila snorted softly to herself, shovelling cake into their gobs so their nose rings might become further encrusted hardly seemed the definition of _brave. _Some such students, high with the power of a crowd, jeered in passing.

'_FRE-AK!,'_ they bellowed, juggernauting through like she were a ribbon to be severed. It felt like a lifetime for them to pass, but pass they did and each day she savoured a train ride home isolated and safe from torment. That was until the arrangements had changed.

The concoction of body odour and testosterone lingered in the corridor but it was a littering of different Factions who filtered out now at a leisurely pace. A car horn sounded abruptly, demanding in its piercing tenor as the students crowded to the glass doors.

Correct in her suspicions Mila drew out a long groan earning raised brows from her peers. The continuous blaring of the horn resonated from a sleek black vehicle parked outside. Eric stood reclined on the bonnet of the car wearing dark shades and a pleased smirk as he took his hand off the steering wheel for a moment and then proceeded to slam his hand down again; Mowbray cringed into the cream leather seats.

Squeezing through the horde of bodies Mila edged along the lockers and gathered her skirts. To evade Eric would be no easy feat she could now concede, but it would be a lot easier without her habitual ungainliness.

A Fire exit in the gymnasium provided potential salvation, she sprinted for the door but fell short as her dress caught the handle. Mila wrestled with the tangled material, her elbow flew into the door eliciting a pained growl. She stumbled back, hands flying to her hair as the net tickled her ear. Mila's fingers found instead the threaded material and in ripping away from the wall she took with her ten dozen basketballs that bounced and squealed along the floor.

"_Shit!" _she hissed, scrambling on all fours to the exit, her skirts pooled around her causing skin to scrape against synthetic wood.

In the distance an engine roared, tires screeching and Mila made a dash for the door, her breaths fell heavy in her ears as she ran from the sound. The days had become fleeting, Winter chased away any lingering slip of sunlight and it was in eve's navy hue that she paced the streets in search of solitude.

A door slammed two blocks along. Mila skidded to a stop. His footfall was slow, deliberate, boots crunching against gravel. She made a getaway for the barest opening between two dejected buildings, but the alleyway was dark and the city was an enigma to her.

His approach was noiseless now; perhaps Eric had grown bored; frustrated that she should make his task more difficult. Mila crept, pasted along the brick wall and tuned out from the city's ambience, searching only for some sign that he might be close.

The engine came to life, whirring it skidded along the streets and the sound grew quieter. Her shoulders slumped as she exhaled in relief, no doctors, no more.

Mila delved a hand into her hair and tousled it to one side, her body felt lighter somehow as though her stomach had been riddled with lead. She rounded the corner and froze when a glacial gaze held her there.

Eric remained still, daring her to move, if this was a game he had already won. His first step ignited her desire to flee; she bolted and slammed into a solid arm. Barred in, she swallowed the thickness in her throat and faced him. Eric's gaze glimmered with victory, and it was dark, his eyes like hollow canals as the shadow encased them both.

"Did you really think you could hide?" he murmured, "I know this city, every inch. Where did you intend to go?"

Mila held his stare, though her breaths were ragged and there seemed in him a change that frightened her.

"Away from _you,_" she spat.

A muscle worked in his jaw, his palms slid down the wall and the space between them was dwindling.

"I'm here to keep you safe, now how can I do that when you go looking for trouble."

"I wasn't-" she battled with the words, "It's not even-"

"You're in a dark alley, _alone_."

Mila huffed and looked away, her body shrugged in defeat.

"I don't want to go," she said dejectedly.

When her gaze returned to his he was studying her, searching for something in the vulnerability she displayed. Eric's eyes narrowed, he pushed away from the wall.

"You just don't want to be helped do you?" he'd retreated into the obsolete darkness leaving only a voice to question her.

"Daughter of a leader, you could have everything. But you _waste it."_

Mila's fingers tore at the flesh of her nails, scraping incessantly, willing the pain into something physical.

"No one can help me."

"All you have to do is tell me!" he growled, visible now. "Just tell me who and it'll stop."

"It's not like that simple, they won't go away I-" she trailed off desperately as he stormed away, glancing to where only wired gates stood ahead she followed him out onto the road.

His figure was large and lonesome in the vast space, and he paced without hesitation, because he knew she would follow. She had to.

"We're late," he spoke coldly; Mila struggled to match his stride and found herself breaking into short clumsy runs to catch up. Eric stopped mid-stride causing her to skid to a halt behind him, he fixed her with a warning look.

"And if you try this again, I won't be coming to find you."

The frigid air was all too tangible now, as a haggard laugh punctuated his words and feral barking followed them through Factionless streets.

* * *

Mila breathed in the sterile air, that sickly medical taste and balled her fists so that the hot sweat seared her palms. Erudite possessed the largest and most technologically advanced healthcare centre in the city. Eric recalled brief visits from his own childhood, vaccinations, assessments, but he was a stranger now as he sewed his own scars with stubborn vigour.

Somewhat livened he observed the force with which she wrung her hands with silken skirts.

"Need a towel for that sweaty?"

Mila smacked his arm, disarmed momentarily by her gall he paused before shoving her. She toppled off the bench and grumbled, aiming a kick at his shin. Eric sidled away with ease, leaning in to where she lay on the floor and flicked her forehead. Mila batted his hand away furiously evoking an amused chuckle from her tormentor. Incensed by his laughter she barrelled into him which only seemed to achieve his moving an inch, the following slap he deflected with ease followed by another.

The playful attack continued until they were slapping each other's hands rapidly, rolling his eyes Eric decided he'd indulged in her antics quite enough and pressed his index finger into the pressure point beneath her jaw. Mila cringed away, pawing at his arm which held like stone.

"Uncle! UNCLE!" she yelped.

He withdrew his hand and smirked in satisfaction. The acidic look she shot him was short lived as her lips fought a smile.

"Mila?" a young man stood before her with dark blue scrubs and a tablet in hand.

Eric noted her warm expression falter, face sullen and bloodless. She rose from her chair, he followed, eyes narrowing as the tablet hit his chest.

"Patient's only," the boy said sternly though his quick departure belied his angst under the Dauntless guard's stare.

Mila treaded softly into the room, turning her head to catch Eric's gaze. Devoid of all fury, all pretence, she was just a girl afraid. He found himself taking an unconscious step forward when a large hand curled around the door and pulled it shut.

* * *

26 minutes and 17 seconds had passed when the screaming began.

He hadn't taken his eyes off the door which remained resolutely closed, it might have been part of the wall, it may well as have been. Once shut, two panels of steel slid together to seal her in, Eric's reservations begin there and continued into enduring seconds. He'd remained oblivious to the circulating patients, phones chiming and panicked nurses, there was only her.

"_NO!" _her shrill scream silenced the room, all eyes averting now to the titanium door. Eric jumped to his feet and looked to where a woman dialled frantically.

"_DON'T TOUCH ME!" _Mila's agonized yells persisted.

"I need security in ward 5," the phone trembled in her hand. "Hurry pl-"

Eric stood over her, having cut the line he allowed her to wither under his glare.

"Open the door."

"Sir I'm afraid I c-" the phone skidded from her grasp, slamming to the wall where it crumbled.

"_Open _that door," he warned coolly, every word deliberate. The receptionist reached up to fix her glasses clumsily, gnawing her lip she jolted back in her chair as something slammed into the metal door from the inside. Whatever it had been there now existed a momentous dent in the surface; the steel twanged and reverberated off the walls.

A gathering of Erudite guards filed in, guns taut in their lanky arms. Eric sneered, striding forward he grabbed the leader by his scruff, their aims shifted. Sought by the weapons of his prior faction he locked an arm around the young man's throat and displayed his human shield.

"Don't move," he growled, the boy whimpered within his grasp and omitted choked gargles.

Her yells had morphed into shrieks; he could hear the trembling sobs in her pleading. Eric tightened his grip on the guard's neck, more dents followed as the door was battered continuously.

A nurse sidled to the print recognition plate, her gaze heavy with doubt. She swallowed thickly as Eric watched her every move with his lips curled into a sneer.

"Do it."

Her hand hesitated before the tablet for a moment, before pressing down. A single beep followed and the steel panels resided into the walls. Mila threw herself forward, tumbling to her knees she shook violently on the floor as hot tears seared her cheeks. Eric unwittingly loosened his grip on the guard when he observed the torn flesh of her knuckles, she couldn't have…

A bullet flew past his temple, alert now he kicked the closest soldier in the stomach, the weapon flying from his grasp Eric caught it and jammed the butt into another's nose. The next shot fired as he grabbed the leader's gun and pointed it at the ceiling. A smattering of rubble showered the ward where the onlookers scrambled for safety.

Wasting not a moment, Eric utilized the ensuing chaos and ripped Mila up from the floor. He threw her limp form onto his shoulder and sprinted for the exit, skidding onto the ground when another bullet followed.

Patients and Interns flew out of his path, descending down the wide marble staircase he cursed at the sprinting steps which tailed them. Eric secured his grip on her legs and slid down the railing, leaping onto the ground floor he made a b-line for the awaiting car. Mowbray's stuttered complaints when unheard as Eric threw Mila into the backseat and shoved the Chauffer aside.

They left Erudite with a screeching of tyres and a trail of smoke that dissipated into the night.

* * *

Moonlight pooled through fragmented glass to illuminate the young fighters. The remainder of the Pit existed in shadow, though training was encouraged, brutal fights between minors were strictly prohibited. Ren leapt from the ring with an adrenaline fuelled grin; wiping away the wet sheen of perspiration with his shirt he immersed himself in the crowd.

Two new participants began to circle each other, driven by the crows of their peers and a violent desire to cause pain. Ren turned away from the display, Jack hovered on the outskirts of the ring, and flexing his bandaged fist he watched them with savage desperation.

"Ready to get back in there?" Ren slapped his friend on the back.

Jack shook his head slowly, gaze fixed firmly on the fight.

"I can wait," he muttered.

A series of exhilarated cries echoed around the vast space as a girl fell to her knees, blood dribbling from her lips she omitted a ragged screech when her opponent slammed his boot into her spine.

Ren grabbed a knife from the pile beside them twirling it in his grasp; the blade drew obscure circles in the ground. His stare swept over Jack's contemplative form.

"What for?"

The girl's arms trembled violently until she collapsed in a limbless heap, sweat soaked and heaving. Both watched as she was scooped up and dragged away, droplets of blood smeared behind her.

Jack looked at Ren then, his thumb rubbed slow circles over the gauze wrapped palm.

"Not what," he answered, "Who."

* * *

Sleep had taken her some hours ago, a luxury Eric forewent in examining Janet's ministrations. She treated the girl with a sour temperament and a practiced ease that furthered his concern. Mila's eyes fluttered open for a moment, body seized within hidden dreams before sinking into the mattress. Janet tutted as the girl twitched erratically, pupils rolling into the back of her skull.

Scrubbing the salve into Mila's angry sores she adopted a gentler approach under Eric's stern gaze, a revolted expression marred her features as she picked flesh from the girl's fingernails. The scent of strong spirits cut through the air as it seeped into her wounds, Janet bandaged them hurriedly, eager to distance herself.

Grey wisps framed her face which had grown reddened and weary; she released a haggard sigh and began to secure Mila's body to the bench with secure bindings. Eric rose from his chair, wrenching the woman's wrist away in a fierce grip.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"It's just a precaution," Janet spat.

Eric released her hand causing her to stagger away, she massaged the bone there tenderly, a bitter remark went unspoken at his scowl.

"You're free to leave," he said, it wasn't a request.

Janet shook her head, a strange smile on her lips as she made to leave. Eric removed the straps that rendered Mila immobile.

"You 'ave no idea what you got yourself into," she cackled and left, allowing the door to slam shut behind her.

Eric stared at the space in which she'd warned him, allowing the words to seep in with a scowl. He did not enjoy being put into a place of ignorance, especially by old, mouthy servants. Mila omitted a soft sigh, he turned to where she remained still, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Placing her hand in his he brushed his fingers over the frayed skin, lingering on cotton clad knuckles. To even indulge the idea that she might have inflicted such damage was absurd, and yet what else could it have been?

Mila's hand lay frozen in his as a shadow passed over them. Eric stiffened; releasing her hand he glanced to where Hank watched them curiously.

"We need to talk," Eric spoke rigidly.

"Yes," Hank's gaze stilled on the straps hanging loose beside her body. "I suppose we do."

The walk to his office whilst silent was permeated with a thick tension. It seemed a manifestation of questions unanswered and requests broken.

Though both had a great deal to say, it was where to begin that proved a hindrance. It was only as Hank went to summon the strength with Whiskey that Eric broke his silence.

"Why did you hire me?"

The bottle froze in Hank's hand, and he spun to face the younger man.

"I already explained she-"

"The bullying?" Eric shook his head, his stare cold. "Doesn't stick with me."

Hank inhaled sharply, replacing the glass with a firm chink. He opened his mouth to speak, but the retort fell and Eric simply raised a brow in challenge.

"Nothing to say? How about that doctor you sent her to? Anything you can tell me about that?"

"You're overstepping your-"

"Am I?" Eric cut in, the irritation that had been festering for weeks apparent in his acidic tone. "You told me she was being hurt, that she needed my protection. But no one wants to be anywhere near her!"

He continued, incensed as the Dauntless' leader refused to even look at him

"Did you know she _attacked _someone at school the other day?"

Hank flinched, his watery blue eyes clouded with fear.

"What do you want me to do?!" Eric growled. "What aren't you telling me?"

Quiet still, Hank's spidery fingers hesitated on the draw before him; swallowing thickly he pulled it open and withdrew a worn slip of paper.

"You have to understand," he whispered weakly, "Everything I do…I just want to keep her safe."

"Safe from what?" Eric asked searchingly.

Hank shook his head; his face pale and worn.

"From herself."

Eric opened his mouth to speak, eager for answers but they came now without question.

"The fits began when she was young," Hank shook his head, lost in a memory, "Atala and I thought it might just be a phase but then when she started getting violent…we decided to see a doctor. He told us Mila suffers from a severe personality disorder and borderline schizophrenia."

Eric could only stare disbelieving, why should he believe a man who had only ever lied? His stomach churned as Janet's words ghosted through his mind.

"We tried everything, every treatment, every…_pill," _he spat, "and finally we thought we'd found something that worked."

Hank looked at him then, his eyes dark with regret.

"I didn't hire you to protect her," he explained, "I hired you to protect _them_."

He slid the photo in his hands across the desk shakily and Eric felt revulsion curling within him as Mila's mother stared back with a smile frozen in time.

"Mila killed her," Hank whispered brokenly, "She killed my wife."


	8. Fall

**A/N: Finally updating, I've written more chapters in advance so as not to go on such a long hiatus again. I initially began writing Freak so as to be an in depth look into why Eric is the way he is, so I understand if the pace seems slow at present but it is all working towards the inevitable, his darkening. **

**The song echoing Mila's feelings during these next few chapters is Better by Banks, so definitely give that a listen! Thank you to those who have followed/favourited this story and for the feedback, I really love reading your reviews. **

Chapter 8

Ardal stood amidst the aftermath of disaster. A smattering of shattered glass lay at his feet; he retrieved a piece and examined the misshapen shard before turning to his associate.

"Care to tell me how this came about?"

Dr Abraham, a faithful servant to his Faction. Severe lines had etched their way into his forehead with time, pouches of skin sagged beside his mouth and a sprinkling of vivacious red hair lined his temples where once youth might have blessed him with more.

"There was a…complication," he said gruffly, unaccustomed to mistakes, at his own hand especially. None would have guessed it but the ever stern Abraham was nervous and felt himself withering under Ardal's stare, a small smile touched the leader's lips, a warning to anyone who knew.

"A complication?" Ardal bit out, "Please Doctor, contain yourself, one can only process so many details at once."

Abraham was relieved of his own shame when a junior intern appeared, eager in the presence of John Ardal he stood stock straight and presented a series of photographs. Two figures stood blurred amidst a sea of blue, but Ardal did not mistake the steely glare of Dauntless' prodigy, nor the girl cradled in his arms.

Polishing his glasses with the rim of his tie, he spoke,

"Call Hank, arrange a meeting with him directly."

"Of c-course," Abraham made to leave.

"Not you," Ardal thrust the photographs into his chest and nodded to the boy, "Him."

Leaving the doctor to his mess he exited the ward, a fresh, willing mind trotting at his heels.

* * *

_Ten months until initiation._

Red, lunar marks lay imprinted on her pillow, caught within a nightmare in which her tears fell like acid she had gouged out the flesh there, ripping at herself until there were only shreds. Reality brought only mild scratches. Mila drank in the sight of her filthy nails and clasped one between her teeth, ripping at the bone one by one until they lay savaged at her sides.

Janet charged into the room and tugged on the blind so that it reeled away with a whine and threw the room into unrelenting daylight. Mila lay amidst a tangle of sheets, still as a corpse she watched the ceiling unblinkingly. Her nurse approached to disturb the reverie and released a knowing snort upon seeing the nails littering the bed.

"Needing a manicure were we?" Janet smacked them off the mattress, a choked yell left her lips as the young woman's hand shot out to grab her skirts. Mila held on with fierce tenacity, though her expression held no trace of emotion.

"Where's Eric?"

"'ow should I bloody know!" Janet growled, vying desperately to move.

Mila watched her struggle for a few more moments before releasing the nurse and watching her stumble back into the vanity. The nurse fought to compose herself, regarding her charge with face twisted in disdain.

"Don't-don't ever-"

"Sorry." Mila murmured, her gaze fixed once more on the paintings above.

Janet stood taken aback; she'd heard a great deal of things leave this brat's mouth but never that.

"Well…yeah, so you should be," she left quickly, frames shuddered against the wall as the door slammed shut.

The smudged strokes had not been at the hand of a master painter to be certain, they were heavy handed and depicted roughly the adventures of a folk take popular amongst Dauntless children. Atala had watched her daughter's hands trembling in the aftermath of the treatment, face drained and eyes glazed. Determined to put a smile on her child's face she set to work, eternalizing their story in ink. Mila lifted her hand and traced the sketches, as though maternal arms held her up once more, a warm hand encased around hers, swirling the paint in gentle patterns.

"Mama's playlist please," Mila sighed, twisting into her pillow, the plush material blotted out unwelcome light.

The roaring heights of a thunderstorm filled the room, heavy showers falling invisible as soft notes travelled down to her and she was lulled into a sleep unburdened by guilt.

* * *

Eric didn't welcome consciousness that morning, he span into it as though rejected from the plane of intoxication he'd entered the night before. Not yet ready to witness the aftermath he felt along the mattress, the seam of his pillow and cringed at the stale smoky scent that clung to him. A regrettable groan rumbled through his chest as his fingers found silky hair, the scent of her perfume lingering in his nose tauntingly.

"Morning Handsome," she cooed.

He allowed himself to remain planted in the safety of his bed until the awkward silence thickened and demanded a reply.

"Imogen," he acknowledged, blinking once, twice until the room was static and turned to her. She lay coyly covered in sheets, perfectly dishevelled, too perfect really given the drunken tumble only hours prior. Eric raised himself onto his knuckles and leaned in, Imogen smiled as her eyes closed expectantly. Bringing his face an inch away from hers he inhaled the familiar scent of spearmint.

"Hm," he moved away abruptly, her eyes flew open as the bed shifted beneath his weight.

"Eric?" she called out as the bathroom door slammed behind him. The room was thrown into light instantly, glaringly bright and unforgiving on his own exhausted image. He could expect nothing else given the long hours of work and even longer nights, that is not say he forewent duties to Hank. Mila was escorted wherever necessary and though he was present physically, he offered no conversation, refused to entertain her musings that he knew now were the result of an ill mind. In the few undistracted moments that existed after patrols and before the first drink he wondered, how exactly had she killed her own mother? Had it been with a blade? She was after all so fixated with the bloodiest circumstances, did the child in Mila feel the slightest regret. During those achingly quiet car rides Eric felt his gaze slide over her, the still young woman whose stare seemed so hollow.

No, he could not see remorse in those eyes.

"_Eric?"_ he was ripped from his thoughts as Imogen called out to him once more.

What an appealing attraction she was during the dizziest heights of his inebriation, the swirling smoke framed her beautifully in those moments. Lust and liquor culminating to provide a few seconds of unspeakable pleasure, after which the contentment seeped away and left a churning in his stomach.

He opened the door to where she stood, the bedsheets wrapped around her naked form.

"You should go," he said.

Imogen was not taken aback by his coolness; she did however raise her chin with defiance.

"When are you going to open up to me Eric?"

Strolling to where his dark attire hung waiting he began to dress, he'd become accustomed to this one sided conversation she insisted upon having.

"I can't take much more of this! You think it's alright to just fuck me and act like it's nothing?! Y-"

"We never said it'd be anything more," Eric cut in sharply, sliding on the jacket that befit the cooler months he regarded his reflection and made to exit the quarters.

"I deserve better than this!" she cried out, her voice weighted with desperation.

He stilled, staring ahead for a few lingering moments.

"Yes," he said, "You do."

She watched him leave, and sank to the floor, fuming at her own weakness.

* * *

Mowbray drove at a steady pace that morning, why the weather was beginning to take on a certain chill undoubtedly but how radiant the early sun was on the autumn trees. His moustache practically trembled with glee at the array of burnished leaves lining the pavements, ah, it was a superb day.

The road lay long and empty before him; he risked a glance into the rear view mirror.

Mr Eric and young Miss Mila were quieter than usual, though given the recent weeks; this silence seemed to be regularity. How awful!

"_Beautiful morning today is it not?" _he gushed.

Mila's gaze met his in the reflection, her expression softened.

"Yes, Mowbray."

He smiled to himself, content in her reply and turned to the road.

Mila glanced to where Eric sat stock still in his seat, staring ahead he possessed no look of irritability, but there was a scowl that radiated from him. She was taken by impulse, looking to the road ahead she yawned and sidled ever so slightly towards him.

He shifted away, it was almost imperceptible, but she knew.

Driven now with a desire to provoke, Mila moved even closer. Eric exhaled through his nose and pressed himself into the door, she could see the stern set of his jaw in her peripheral vision.

There was no denying his need for distance now, and though the question burned as to what had caused it, Mila knew only the instinct to push his buttons.

She looked to where he sat with gaze determinedly averted and slid slowly along the leather seat. His hand slammed down beside her thigh, Mila glanced at it for a moment then back to him with excited wonder.

"Stop," he warned.

"Stop what?" she smiled, her eyes narrowing.

He did not reply, she sighed roughly and brushed her fingertips along his. Eric ripped his hand away as though he'd been burned; Mila watched his withdrawal with shock.

Then she saw it.

He held his fisted hand away and watched her as though watching a feral animal that'd gotten too close, gone was the measly familiarity they'd built before; he looked at her like a stranger.

The smile melted away to reveal a cold glare.

"Is something wrong?" she questioned acidly.

Eric would not allow her to infringe upon the wall he'd built between them, she would not crawl into his mind and ruin him the way she had others. He looked away.

"No."

Mila was not satisfied, she pressed on,

"Why can't I touch you?" she illustrated her point by placing her hand gingerly on his chest. Eric stared at it as though it were an insect crawling upon his person; he plucked up her hand and tossed it away.

"Why do you want to?" he drawled.

Mila's fists clenched momentarily as she retreated back into her seat, of course he'd managed to turn the tables on her with a word. Eric's lips curled up into a lazy smirk as his gaze washed over her in victory, he folded his arms, the sleeves of his jacket straining against the bulk of muscle.

A stray coil of hair flew up as she huffed fiercely, and she was glad that her dark complexion hid the flushed heat of her cheeks. Bitterly aware of her growing attraction, his contempt only served to remind Mila of another, more beautiful, more fitting than her.

_Voracious laughs echoed off the cavernous walls, soon lost to the roar of the chasm. Her head snapped up, tearing away from the hypnotic streams below Mila pressed herself into the furthest wall, accustomed to becoming a shadow. Two silhouettes stumbled along the bridge, the larger clutching a bottle in his hand, he stopped and the sound of a match flared. Her nose wrinkled as she saw the woman lean in to kiss his neck, his hand snaked around her waist pulling her in closer. _

"_What do you want to do now?" she asked, her tone dripping with suggestion._

_He inhaled raggedly and Mila watched his shadow savouring the smoke. _

"_Come on," Eric replied, leading her away, their silhouettes seemed to morph into one as they disappeared into the night. _

"Come on," Eric barked, she jumped and turned to where his steely eyes watched her expectantly. "Out!"

She withered under his stare, disorientated until focusing in on the building behind him. They'd arrived.

Mowbray stood patiently beside the open door, watching the students filter through the entrance and reminiscing as to his own youth. The young Miss Mila stumbled out of the car mumbling a swift thank you to him, she hurried against the bracing wind. As she turned her gaze once more to the tall figure beside him, Mowbray thought she could have been a painting. Her flyaway curls dancing in the wind, dark skirts pooled around her feet and piercing eyes peering back to where they stood.

That was at least, until she turned and ran into the glass door.

Again.


	9. Fake

**A/N: We're almost at the end of Part One! It's all just getting started and I'm so excited to share the unfolding story with you all. I've been asked when a romance can be expected between Eric and Mila, you can find the answer on my Tumblr – link is in my profile. **

**It'll be getting a lot more intense from here on out. Please enjoy and review!**

* * *

Chapter 9

_Nine and a half months until initiation _

Four was in the midst of wiping away fresh tears when Eric shoved him, his own laughter rumbling out of his chest in uncontrollable guffaws.

"Your-"he cut himself off, choking on his words as another fit of hysterics bubbled up. "Your turn, your turn."

They scanned the array of monitors before them, the green hue illuminating their faces in the pitch black control room. Eric spun in his chair to fix Four with an earnest look, jabbing his finger to the screen on which one of their soldiers stood alone in the Candor district…with his hand down his trousers.

"Oh this is just too much," Four grinned and inhaled deeply, allowing a few moments to compose himself. He leaned into the mic and found the appropriate button.

"Private Jameson," he barked.

The young man on the screen near almost jumped out of his skin, his body a vivid green under the night-vision.

"Private Jameson we have a situation on 25th, two blocks down from you, do you think you could run down there and check it out?"

The soldier stared dumbly around him for a moment, fumbling with his earpiece in wonder.

"Uh, yes, yes of course Sir…Right away."

Four nodded solemnly and leaned into the mic once more.

"Thank you Private," he waited until the Soldier had relaxed, certain that he was longer under watchful eyes to speak.

"_Jameson!"_ Four snapped. The young man squeaked in fear, and Eric struggled to stifle his amusement. "If you're going to scratch your balls could you not do it on my time? Thanks."

Four cut the line and the two broke into fresh peals of laughter. The few remaining operators who were slugging back their sixth coffee for the night glanced over disdainfully, as last place initiates; they could not afford to be so leisurely on a shift.

His chuckles faded into an amused sigh, Four rubbed the breadth of his palms against his eyes tiredly watching crimson swirls enter his vision.

"Okay that's me done, 15 hours straight I'm hitting the sack."

"I'll catch you later," Eric nodded, spinning back to the screen.

"You do realize you don't work here right?" Four called over his shoulder.

"It crossed my mind," he smirked and waved him away, watching until his friend's reflection had retreated entirely.

He'd succeeded in previous weeks at convincing himself he had no business snooping further in Hank's private affairs, that the past was in the past. Eric believed this too, fixed under the snarling glare of his brattish charge he knew Mila was not the woman her mother had been.

What's more those dwindling moments in which they'd forged something akin to friendship could only have been an anomaly. And the murky tension that had been left in the wake of his discovery as to her own psychotic tendencies left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Eager to avoid another regret ridden discussion with Imogen who pursued him like an incessant moth Eric took his nightly adventures elsewhere. Only when he became weakened, a victim to his own curiosity did he check in on Mila, insisting to himself it was a matter of obligation.

What he found there only fed from then on the desire to know more, for in the rare moments she slept unseized by nightmares, her eyelashes fluttered upon a face free of hatred. This was a girl who could laugh wildly and wonderfully and through possibility existed promise.

_I will make her smile._

Then what desires he had slept on, that mere wisp of an idea only dissipated on seeing her the following morning. His need to discover more however, did not wane, so here Eric found himself sitting before a screen searching for some depth to her madness.

Eric traced his thumb across his lip absentmindedly as he stared at the box requesting a password into Hank's account. Fingers flying across the monitor he typed in _HANK_ and released a frustrated huff as the screen flashed red, looks like the leader had learnt a thing or two about security.

Perusing further options his hand hovered for a moment before typing _ATALA. _

_Access Granted. _

Okay so maybe Hank could still do with a lesson, perhaps Eric would even offer his services when he was done snooping through his personal life.

He chose a shortcut straight to the documents and filtered the results down to watchable files, scanning the array he selected the most recent, nine years prior.

_File Unavailable: Insert Key. _

A frown marred his features as he highlighted another, the same result flashing up in bold red letters. Deciding on a different approach Eric maximised the oldest file available. The box filled the entirety of the screen, he adjusted the display so no prying eyes could share his view and sat back to see what waited.

A small creature crawled into view, a tuft of coppery brown hair protruding from her head as she shuffled along the floor in a fluffy lime green jumper and miniature dungarees. A fierce giggle tore from her as she upped her pace, her mother following behind on hands and knees imitating a ferocious monster.

A pair of foreboding black boots came into view, blocking any sights of the tottering toddler; Eric could not mistake the voice that spoke out.

"I've gotta go, they need someone to fill in at the wall."

Atala dragged her delighted gaze away from her daughter long enough to receive a brief kiss on the nose from Hank, his hand popped into view as he ruffled Mila's hair.

"Be good," he said.

"She'll be fine," Atala laughed.

"I meant you," Hank called out cheekily, the door swinging shut behind him.

Mila's mother stuck her tongue out at the closed door and suddenly leapt forward scooping a giggling Mila into her arms as she shuffled towards the camera.

"I gotcha! I gotcha!"

"N-oooo!" the toddler whined, though she put up little fight.

Atala's dark eyes shone as she directed her child's gaze to the camera, waving exaggeratedly.

"Can you say hello to the camera?"

Mila simply stared in open mouthed wonder, her mismatched eyes large upon her infantile face.

"HAH-OOHHHHHHHH!" she shouted suddenly, evoking an amused chuckle from her mother.

"Very good!" Atala placed a loud smooch on Mila's forehead, monotone static blurred the screen morphing into a new image.

The young child sat now in rose pink pyjamas, the tuft had now become a stream of riotous curls ending at the base of her neck. Mila sat cross legged before an array of picture cards, Atala lay on her side in a black uniform similar to Eric's, she must have ranked highly.

"A-A-Ahhh," Atala encouraged her daughter, who stared at the cards in dismay.

"Abegaysha," Mila blurted out determinedly, earning a satisfied nod.

"Almost! Ab-ne-ga-tion," her mother mouthed out slowly.

"Ab-ne-ga-sha," the child followed.

"There we go!" Atala grinned and held out a plastic cup, "Finish your juice sweetie."

A pair of hairy legs came into view; Hank slumped into the couch behind his family clad in a black robe, hollowed circles under his eyes as he cradled a steaming cup.

"Everything Okay?" Atala asked quietly, as though trying to keep their conversation private from the lens.

"S'fine," Hank replied shortly.

Atala stared at him for a few moments searchingly before turning back to her daughter who raced through the cards.

"Abnegasha?" she whined, holding up the card for her mother to see. On it stood a cartoon man clad in samples of grey and back, eyes animatedly red and a ratty beard protruding from his chin.

"Ah no honey, that's a Factionless man."

Mila just stared at her questioningly.

"I'll explain when you're older."

Hank shook his head, "Why do you have to mollycoddle her!?"

"What?" Atala seemed taken aback.

"She's old enough to know what _Factionless_ means."

"She's three Hank," her voice dropped until it was barely discernible "You want me to explain that there are people living on the city streets because they're too _old _to be useful?"

"It's the truth isn't it," he grumbled, glancing down to where Mila sipped her juice oblivious to her parent's antagonized tones. "And why do you have to dress her like one of those tree hugging kids huh?"

Atala sat up straight as though to hide Mila away from his resentful gaze.

"What is _wrong with you?!" _she whispered hurriedly, Hank simply shook his head and left the room. Atala stared at the empty space he'd left, her internal struggle as to whether to follow present in her features. She left the unwavering eye of the camera, their irate voices biting out in the background.

"If you're angry at me don't take it out on Mila!"

"Oh yes, you, you, everything has to be about you doesn't it," Hank spat.

"What? What are you talking about?!"

Little Mila ripped the flask from her mouth abruptly, causing a dribble of red juice to mar the carpet. Gazing at the stain in confusion, she wiped at it with the hem of her pyjama shirt, got bored and walked to where the camera watched.

"Oh don't act like you don't know," Hank's voice replied bitterly, "You. Have. Everything. You said they'd find me a new job within the week, it's been two months!"

Mila brushed her frizzy curls away and stared directly into the lens, one blue eye filling the screen as her miniature breaths fogged up the glass. She leaned away, her parent's problems a mystery to her. Eric felt himself smile as the young girl opened and closed her mouth, mimicking her mother and father as they spoke, so innocent to the reality.

Whatever Atala's reply was became lost to the static as Mila fiddled with the buttons, casting the screen into darkness.

Before Eric had a chance to click another the next file opened automatically, displaying a vast elegant space lit with candles. Mila sat centrefold at the grand oak table with a black cone hat and a toothless grin.

"_Happy Birthday to you!"_ Atala and Hank sung in unison as they placed a momentous chocolate cake before her, soft butter icing oozing out from the sponge and a 7 shaped candle burning in the centre.

"_Yaaaay!"_ they chorused as she took a dramatic breath in and blew fiercely, demolishing the flame.

Atala clapped her hands together gleefully as Hank grasped the kitchen knife.

"Time to cut the cake!" he exclaimed. Eric found himself glued to the scene as Mila's father placed his hand on hers, the knife hovering mere inches away. He watched as her pupils dilated, chest rising with rapid, panicked breaths, tiny hands balling into fists as she shoved the cake away from her. A broken smash penetrated the silence; a wad of cake flew towards the camera and left an oozing brown stain where it fell.

Then she began to scream, knocking the knife out of her hand, it spun towards the adjacent wall with a metallic clang. Piercing screeches had her parents clamping down on their ears; pained tears fell down Atala's cheeks as she tried desperately to comfort her little girl from a safe distance.

"Baby it's alright!" she cried, "You're okay!" she reached gingerly for her daughter but was pulled back as Hank shook his head violently.

"No don't touch her; you know what the doctor said."

A violent sob tore wracked Atala's body as she sank into his arms. Mila clawed at her scalp as though trying to rip the curls from her head, she fell to the floor, trembling furiously as the screams continued to tear through her lungs.

It was relentless, her body thrashed around, fingers clawed seeking unknown attackers. She crawled along the floor with eyes squeezed shut, the flesh of her arms marred with scratches as she reached unknowingly for the knife.

It was then that Atala ripped herself out of Hank's grasp; throwing herself onto Mila's wailing form she wrapped herself around her child, cradling her. Eric felt a churning in the dark pits of his stomach as Mila struggled in her mother's arms only inches away from the knife.

She went still.

Her breaths slowed, screams halting so that only a light ringing could be heard in the aftermath of her fury. She was tense in Atala's arms, and then she melted into the embrace, whimpering softly.

The scene cut out. Any further footage blocked.

Eric exhaled gruffly, leaning back in his chair to stare at the empty screen.

It seemed Atala had found a way to quell Mila's rage.

So what changed?

* * *

Chloe twirled the steel ring between her nostrils erratically, a nervous habit though she'd sock anyone who said as such.

"Why do _I_ have to do this?" she groaned, her eyes locked firmly on the school entrance.

"Because," Jack explained exasperatedly, "If any of us asks she'll suspect something."

Grumbling to herself she tried in vain to slick a deviant hair back into place. The blood red Mohican protruded from the top of the bushes behind which they hid.

"Well I wish she'd hurry up."

* * *

Mila stared blankly at the outstretched hand before her.

It belonged to a girl she might have called a friend once, but the child with white golden hair certainly filled her Dauntless boots now. Her hair, a vivacious shade of scarlet, stood upright highlighting the sharp contours of her face and her lithe figure had been clad with black mesh and leather. The only constant was her deep set blue eyes, which offered kindness in this rare moment.

Chloe withdrew her hand, squeezing it as though the gesture had never happened.

"How are you?" she grasped at something to fill the awkward silence.

"Well." Mila answered, her own confusion hidden behind an impenetrable mask of coldness that unnerved Chloe.

"Um…okay well look, a few of the Dauntless guys and I have got together a little club, just practicing fighting techniques you know and uh, I was wondering if you wanted to come?"

Mila gazed at her unblinkingly, digesting this invitation.

"Why?"

Chloe appeared taken aback by this, struggling to summon an answer.

"We're just trying to get more people involved, it's a pretty small group right now and you know I thought it'd be nice…for old times' yeah?"

She could not recall the last invitation she'd received, and it seemed odd now after all these years to consider their infantile friendship a force worth rekindling.

"Just…a few of you?" Mila asked warily.

Chloe beamed, nodding enthusiastically.

Mila fought the genuine smile that tugged at her lips; she wrung her hands together anxiously.

"Yeah I'll um, I'll see if I'm…busy."

Chloe kept her gaze firmly averted from the hedge in the distance which rustled now with a renewed gust of wind.


	10. Found

Chapter 10

A side effect of being smart was that everyone thought the right decisions would follow, though to John Ardal it was more of a disease, he was the leader of Erudite and therefore a paragon of morality.

'_Not quite'_ he felt himself grin, it preluded the hysterical laugh that might have gone on forever. He lifted a hand to inspect the skin there, thousands of fine lines etched into his palm; he pulsed his fist open and closed. This hyperawareness of his own self was the feverish result of _Euphoria. _

Young, charming and shuddering under the weight of expectation his natural genius had evoked, Ardal had injected his first dose of peace serum as a sweating, nervous wreck. From the moment that he felt true languidness flow through his veins he became an addict.

Sliding his way into leadership he accepted his place graciously, shook hands with the board, straightened his blue button down shirt and smiled for the mandatory photographs. Then, only when he had found true solitude did he allow the needle to pierce his skin and soothe him into a state no status could bring.

Years passed and as he won the favour of his people, _his city, _in leaps and bounds the craving only grew. He sought out new, stronger serums and whilst his insatiable need increased so did his carelessness. To the people of Chicago John Ardal was a genius, to himself he was omnipotent, skipping trials and sailing through safety procedures he knew, no drug was enough.

So here he sat reclined now in the shady depths of his opulent home, lost in the swaying movements of a young woman adorned in crystal blue gems. His dilated vision lingered on the generous curve of her hips and the existing grin fell, in its place, distaste.

High on the dizzying trip of his latest find, _Euphoria, _John Ardal turned to the business like figure watching from afar and jerked his head to the dancer.

"Have you got anything younger?"

* * *

Mila watched him hold the smoke within his lungs as they made their way through the crowded halls, plumes of thick grey surrounding them for brief moments before dissipating into the atmosphere. It provided a distraction and somewhat of a shield between them and the curious eyes that followed, he of course was impervious to those looks, perhaps he was used to it, perhaps he didn't care.

"Can I have one?" she queried, struggling to stifle a wave of panic that surfaced in the midst of public exposure. Mila pressed her nails into fleshy palms, sharp, rhythmic motions and allowed her gaze only to focus on the sinewy fingers that cradled his cigarette.

"No," Eric answered coolly, the incessant herd of bodies that sprinted in true Dauntless manner from corridor to corridor began to filter out on the way to her quarters.

She'd expected no less but the urge to inquire did not settle. He allowed his gaze to travel briefly over her petulant expression, a complaint visible in the turn of her lips.

"I can't imagine poisoning Hank's daughter was part of the job description."

Mila felt a flare of irritation at the title.

"Do you always need permission where my father is concerned? Does he tell you when you can piss and fuck too?" she sneered.

Eric tried in vain to remain oblivious to her words, striding forward until he was encased in shadows of cerulean blue. He could hear her furious steps echoing upon the bridge, she grasped his wrist, willing him to stop. Had he not been consumed with indignant frustration Eric might have noticed the unnatural tenacity with which she held him there.

Weeks of subdued questions swam tumultuously through her mind in the act of stopping him, but Mila found now under the weight of his stare that none could be articulated. She grasped instead for something she knew, unwavering acidity.

"What? Has he rid you of your ability to speak too?"

His expression darkened, weaving sinister excitement through her veins. _Finally_, she thought, _he's really looking at me. _

"Watch how you talk to me," he bit out.

"Or. What?"

Eric's steely gaze dropped to his wrist, skin was pulled taut over her knuckles as she held on fiercely. He circled his arm, breaking through her thumb and grasping her forearm so roughly she tumbled into him. Mila's breath hitched as she fell into his chest, bathed in a heady mix of smoke and leather she felt only further exhilarated by the proximity.

She lifted her head, but found only contempt in his eyes. They were not dark and pulsing as she felt her own, his breaths not short and rapid as though stolen.

"You can find someone else to linger at your beck and call," he hissed quietly.

To others his warning might have been lost to the roar of the waters below but to Mila it could not have been more biting in its clarity.

"And risk your desperate efforts at becoming leader? I don't think so."

His jaw twitched, something might have flashed in his eyes, but he held still.

"I can wait," Eric snarled.

Hurt pulsed through her at the statement, how he could not wait to be rid of her, just like her father.

Mila ripped herself out of his grip and shoved him fiercely; he stumbled back into the railing which quivered under his weight.

"Well why don't you just go already!" she yelled, "I don't need you!"

He stood to full form, his eyes hollowed out by shadow.

"You really think I'm doing this for you?" he sneered.

"What?" Mila asked shortly, "Yes…yes of course, why else?"

She started, her head snapping in the direction of a newly passed member of Dauntless whose sheepish steps severed the silence. The venom that had existed entirely for Eric did not waver and the girl quickened her pace under the cutting stare.

A dark figure stepped in, her view of the girl obstructed by his hulking chest. Mila looked up to where Eric stepped forward, cornering her into the bridge's edge, and the hungry waters below.

"W-why else?" she repeated with hushed timidity.

Her gaze darted alerted over his face, set in the same stare she recognized upon those who cried _Freak. _

Eric too examined the girl that stood caged beneath him, and the eyes he'd known to be a child's, gleeful and innocent, but knew more to be untamed and dangerous.

"What happened to her?" he murmured.

Mila shook her head, heart thrashing now as the metal creaked against her spine.

"Just tell me the truth," he said and it almost sounded gentle in spite of the looming threat. "What happened to your mother Mila?"

She might have been submerged then, a sudden ringing in her ears muted the turbulent waves but it did not stop the water filling her lungs and seeping out, her eyes glazed with tears.

A blank face devoid of eyes, lips sliced through her mind and her hands shot out to Eric's shoulders, her fingers clawing there before she shook violently. He allowed her for a moment to seek reality in his unyielding form, her fingers trembling over the pulse of his neck, his jaw.

Eric took her hands within his and forced her averted gaze to his, tears clinging to her lips.

"It was me," Mila mouthed, the choked admission lost to the waves.

"I _killed _her," she whimpered, "I didn't mean to, I never-"

He released her, her hands fell limply to her sides as she sank down.

"I'm sorry," her head fell to her knees, but she was not speaking to him. "I'm so sorry."

Mila did not miss however the sound of his steps, one, and another away from her.

'_Of course' _she surmised, '_Of course this had never been for her protection.'_

She raised her head slowly, her voice laced with bitterness.

"He told you didn't he?"

Eric could only stare; he never wanted any of this and his eyes which darted to the opening ahead confirmed as such.

"Please just go," she pleaded, scrubbing at her eyes with the hem of her sleeve.

He remained still, caught in indecision.

"_Go away!_" she spat harshly, the sound reverberating off cavernous walls.

What scrap of conscience held him there dissipated with her words, and Eric allowed himself then an out. He would no longer be responsible for the woes of his leader's psychotic brat.

Eric turned to where the crooked exit sought his dismissal and walked away. His large silhouette paced along the wall until it too shrank into nothing.

After all, she didn't need him.

* * *

Janet was in the midst of lighting a fat blunt when Mila stormed in in a flurry of curls and red rimmed eyes, the elder nurse choked on the first inhale, flapping the smoke hurriedly trying to hide the evidence.

"What you doin' here so late huh? I've been lying around here for ages!" she coughed.

Her reply came in the form of a slammed door, the generator hummed as she switched on the shower.

Janet glared at the closed bathroom door marble white and adorned with plates of gold. The words '_Little Princess' _engraved in the centre, though the P had long been ripped off.

"Spoiled little shit, more like," Janet grumbled.

Mila threw open the door and padded along the heated tiles of her suite, rivulets of water clung to her curls as she dropped the towel and pondered her wardrobe in dissatisfaction.

"What? The mournin' dresses aint good enough for you no more?"

She returned Janet's remark with a calm stare, her eyes alight with opportunity.

"Why Janet I could always sport a large red wig if you like, perhaps a singing bowtie?"

The nurse's face turned grim, she shook her head pleadingly but Mila had only just begun, prowling towards her with slow steps.

"_Come on Janet, _it'd be _fun. _Big polkadot overalls…"

Janet released a squirming whine low in her throat.

"Stop!" she begged.

Mila halted, rolling her eyes she withdrew and slumped into the plush armchair, soaking the surface with dampened skin.

"I need trousers," Mila sighed.

Trembling still from the images her hateful charge had inspired, Janet peered up at the girl with narrowed eyes.

"Yeah well last time I suggested trousers you told me to stick 'em up my arse."

Swinging her legs over, Mila arched across the chair and threw an arm over her face.

"By suggested you mean you shoved a pair of combats in my face at the crack of dawn, what else did you expect?"

She paused at that, flinging herself from the armchair to bury down into the darkest depths of her wardrobe. Janet squealed as dark material hit her square in the face and lay adorned upon her shoulders. Mila plucked the trousers from her nurse and strolled to the mirror.

"Well what do you know Janet, you _can _be useful," she smirked and shimmied into the snugly fit combats, frowning as she struggled to get them past her behind.

"Were these designed for a child?" Mila gasped giving one last tug and fixing the zipper.

"Maybe you just need to lay off the cakes," Janet smiled sourly and received a charming middle finger in return.

In lieu of a top Mila found herself glancing at the shirt Eric had discarded some weeks prior in the aftermath of his workout. A hollow churning sensation she had been vying to stifle returned in slipping it on, though cool against her skin it still carried his scent.

"Well that looks ruddy ridiculous," Janet snorted as the shirt fell to her lower thighs, she may as well have worn the dress.

"What you goin' out lookin' like that for?"

"Sparring with friends," Mila sniffed, an elastic band snapped between her fingers as she failed to tame her hair into submission.

"What friends? You ain't got none!"

Mila ignored that remark though the dread that surfaced followed her all the way to the exit. Chloe _had _said it would only be a select few.

"Oi where you going, you need to wait for Eric!"

Her hand hesitated on the handle before engulfing it and revealing the deserted corridors ahead.

"Eric won't be coming here anymore."

* * *

It appeared as the tempo increased so did Jack's desperation, delving into plastic casing with clawed fingers he sought his latest fix with vigour. Word of the training sessions has spread and as such what formality existed before vanished to reveal a more juvenile sport. Ren felt himself grimace as the bass beneath his feet only grew in intensity, the heaving bodies in the ring barely visible under coloured fog and a mass of inebriated bodies.

"You really need another one man?" he eyed the beer Jack nursed with a frown.

"It doesn't even get to me dude, calm your shit," Jack snorted, kicking the cap off with the heel of his boot and swigging generously.

He pulled the bottle away mid chug, frothing liquid dribbled from his chin as he called to the girl who watched the narrow entrance intensely.

"Oi Chloe, where the fuck is she?"

She weaved through the crowd and shrugged; retrieving a bottle for herself Chloe noted Ren's disapproval.

"Save it," she groaned, "I gotta play guard dog all night I'm at least getting a drink."

Raking a hand through thick dreads Ren glanced momentarily to the two figures battling it out in the centre, their motions were delayed yet chaotic, catching each other in bursts of drunken aggression.

"This isn't a goddamn party!" Ren shot back, "We're supposed to be prepping for initiation!"

"It's one drink! Seriously! What is your pr-"

"Would the two of you shut the fuck up!" Jack growled, slamming his bottle on the cement ledge.

Bobbing rhythmically to the music, Saul bounded over with glazed eyes and a wide grin. He punched Ren in the arm, oblivious to the tension of before.

"Would you look at the turn out to-_night!_" he sang, receiving only irritable looks in return. "Woah, what's eating you guys?"

"This isn't a fucking rave I-"

"That freakshow hasn't shown a-"

"Can't even have one damn drink-"

Saul stumbled back with a clumsy laugh as they advanced on him, scrambling to recover his drink he glanced at the entrance and the nervous figure watching the ring in dismay.

"Looks like you got what you want Jack," he pointed at the doorway and proceeded to pass out on the floor.

"_Shit," _Jack hissed, shoving Chloe into the crowd. "Get her now! Before she leaves!"

Chloe sprinted away, splashes of alcohol licking her hand as she pushed through the crowd, glass crunching beneath her feet.

"You know I'm not sure this is a good idea dude-"Ren began but was cut off by a seething glare, Jack lifted his hand, a puckered scar below his knuckles served an angry reminder of her venom.

"You wanna see her walk away?" he spat, "Some bitch stabs your best friend and you don't even give a shit?"

"Man you know what I mean I-"

"Either you're with me or you're not," Jack warned, discarding his drink and integrating himself into the crowd.

She knew inherently the sound of a mob, she knew what the music, the lights, and the ecstatic _screams _entailed but had not turned back. The abandoned warehouse, it was property of the Dauntless but the rotting walls allowed little else than target practice. It had been transformed tonight however into what Chloe had deemed 'a light sparring session.' Mila did not know a great deal about how these things went, but somehow, she did not think a rave was standard.

She observed for a moment the tooth that dangled carelessly from the gums of a victor in the ring, dazzling like a trophy under black light. It didn't much else to feel the ground move beneath her, retreating from the animalistic jeers of the crowd she felt for the exit desperately.

"Mila!" a voice cried, she ignored it, it was no good she really ought to leave.

"MILA!" Chloe's shouts were distinct among the masses now; she whipped around as a hand grasped her wrist, moments away from snapping it before it was withdrawn.

Chloe shot her a confused smile, her blue irises glowed white.

"Where are you going? It's only just started."

Mila swallowed thickly, watching the throng of bodies shove each other in their need to be next.

"I didn't…this isn't what I-"

"Hey come on," Chloe grinned, brushing off her protests. "It'll be fun, look, it's totally relaxed."

A spontaneous roar of cheers erupted out as the pre-initiates took to the ring, they wasted no time with teasing, only a punch or two thrown before they wrestled each other to the floor, tearing and grappling as they went.

It was a strange contrast to the benign expression her old friend held, eagerly gesturing towards the centre, and though she flinched as Chloe's hand encased her own, she allowed herself to be pulled into the horde.

The elevated stand on which the Dauntless fought was obscured now behind the mass, Mila narrowed her eyes in a vain attempt to see, her stomach lurching each time the warehouse erupted into screams. She sought out the vivacious red of Chloe's trademark look but in clambering through the bodies she was met with irritable resistance, vague recognition in their eyes as they pushed back.

"Chloe?" she croaked, her curls clung to her skin now in a light sweat.

A hand caressed the bare skin of her forearm, whipping around she came face to face with a UV white smile, metal studs glinting in the light. Mila jolted away, stamping on a girl's boot mistakenly she earned a muttered curse or two and was thrusted back into Jack, who only grinned further.

"Hey there Freak," he spoke in to her ear, and how she wanted to claw intensely at it just to extract the words. Mila simply shook her head vigorously, she tried to immerse herself into the crowd but he was in no hurry to release her.

"What do you want?!" she hissed, scanning the room for any available exit.

His eyes took on a sinister edge, delighting in the nerves she presented.

"I thought maybe we could dance?" he suggested.

Mila eyed him in dismay, struggling in his grip she sneered,

"I don't want to dance with you! Get off!"

Jack seemed victorious, as though she'd granted him his wish, sliding his scarred hand into her curls he grasped the back of her neck.

"Well if you don't want to dance…how about a little _fight?_"

With that he yanked back her curls and slammed his boot into her stomach, Mila flew back onto the glass ridden floor, bodies parted ways and even those in the ring stopped with the commotion.

Mila scrambled back, broken shards slicing her palms as she went. Jack revelled in the attention, striding towards her he stamped down on the oversized shirt that dragged along with her, halting the escape.

"Did you really think you could get off free?" he barked out a laugh and leaned over her squeezing her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. His voice took on a quieter tone.

"Did you think for a _second _that I wouldn't fuck you up?"

The heavy, pulsing beat of the music continue to pound through the walls but there was not a word to be spoken amidst the crowd, some edged forward in an attempt to make peace but were held back by the majority.

"_HUH?!" _Jack screamed, slamming her head into the ground.

Mila saw the world spin as her skull bounced, she remained frozen in shock, a light ringing existed in the threads of her conscious but she would not feed it, she could not submit, not here.

He stood, his body trembling with fury as he stomped savagely on her thigh, she exhaled roughly, desperately trying to ignore the pain. There was wild excitement in the eyes of the crowd, and what doubt might have existed was eased by their setting. This was after all, an arena.

"GET UP!" he spat, "GET THE FUCK UP!"

He turned to the audience with arms wide, a bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"You see this? We've got a _coward _in Dauntless!"

His statement was met with a tittering of laughter, Mila rose shaking to her feet, several people stepped in to block the exit.

"S-top," she implored him weakly.

Jack thrust her back into the centre, tutting as he circled her limp form. Whirling his fist he teased for a second before sinking it into her stomach mercilessly. Everyone sucked in an exhilarated breath just as she lost hers, he caught her next in the cheek, and the crack of knuckle against bone was tangible. Tired of playing he threw all of his weight into a punch that floored her, following it with a series of kicks to the back, the kidneys, the face. Mila wrapped herself into a ball until the onslaught had blood trickling from her lips.

"But you want to know the best part about all this?" he grinned, surveying the hoard once more.

"The _freak," _he paused for emphasis, looking down at her, "Is Hank's daughter."

Silence broke as the warehouse erupted into disarray.

'_But Hank doesn't have a kid.'_

'_No one even sees her'_

'_There's no way she's his kid!' _

"It's true!" Jack exclaimed and pointed then to the young man watching grimly from afar.

"_REN _told me!

Mila followed his hand with a dizzied gaze, the boy did not cast her a glance as her sank further into the mass. She glared acidly at her attacker as he approached with faux pity, but the ringing only grew, and the features were melting from his face.

"No Eric to protect you now huh?"

He vied to solidify this statement with what would be a glorious knockout, securing her by the collar Jack withdrew his fist and sent it hurtling forward.

Mila threw up her palm, and he met it like concrete, a severed howl left his lips as she clasped his hand within her own, and squeezed.

The bones snapped like crackers beneath her fingers and those who were close enough to see had witnessed for the first time a hand being crushed into dust. Jack looked to his wrist, the severed place where his hand had been, and fainted.

The room flew into action; those with little sense tackled her by the waist, holding her arms and legs.

"_Let go of her!"_ Chloe screamed, having seen the display in sickening clarity.

Mila saw only a blur of fingers, so many long winding reeds swallowing her that needed to be stopped; she dragged the weight off her body, securing the faceless figure onto the ground. Incessant creatures continued to paw at her, she batted them away, shrieks of agony followed as those foolish few were thrown across the floor.

But the thick, veiny vines were obscuring her vision now, seizing her muscles and sending her body into sharp, twitching shocks.

She could not tell the ringing from the screams, nor the singing from their cries. It was all one, loathsome blur.

_She's fucking crazy _

_No! Don't go near her she-_

She was released; the bindings flew from her and took with them the bloodcurdling cries. Only two arms held her now, securing her from behind, rocking gently as her vision eased to black.

"It's okay," he hummed in her ear.

"It's over now."


	11. Repression

Chapter 11

_9 months until initiation _

Shallow breaths fluttered from her lips which carried the subtlest semblance of a smile.

'_Her dreams are being good to her today,' _Eric mused as he ran his thumb along the lock of hair in his hand, an absentminded habit he'd developed in these silent moments together.

It had been a struggle to look during the first few days, the delicate skin below her lashes had torn and swelled, melding with the blackened bruises along her cheekbone. A smattering of yellow bruises lingered on her body still but the internal damage was not declared permanent. It was now from the confinements of her mind alone Mila had to wake.

Yet beneath the loaded anticipation, with which he waited, lay the doubts which only grew with each unconscious day. How would she look at him? As her breathing fell uneasy through bruised lungs, how would she see her deserter?

Eric allowed the unkempt coil to fall from his hand, it flumped across the pillow and joined the mane of curls framing her face. An unseen mark peered at him from the base of her ear; he narrowed his eyes as he leaned in to what appeared almost like a puncture.

The door to her quarters flew open and Eric straightened in his seat just as Janet stomped in, arms laden with gowns and a face red from exertion.

"Bloody stairs," she puffed.

She slicked back the grey wisps at her temples and began to hang the dresses. Her eyes darted to where Eric sat, his hair unkempt and dark eyes rimmed with exhaustion.

"Still not up?"

It was a harmless question but in his remorse it felt accusatory, he lifted his tired gaze and shook his head no. Janet clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"Silly girl, gettin' herself mixed up in a fight like that." It was the same thing she'd been ranting on about for days but garnered no response from him. A dark bundle was thrown in his lap, Eric's brows drew together as he unravelled the shirt; torn and faint with brownish red stains.

"S'yours I'm assumin'," she shrugged, "couldn't get the blood out so probably not much use to you now."

With that she took her leave and Eric drank in the sight of the bloodied shirt moments more before throwing it away in disgust.

* * *

Ink swam across the paper with the skilful ease only attained through practice, and only those who were truly looking would see the gouges of a hook scoring its lines in primly concealed fury. In ordinary circumstances Jeanine's fingers would fly across her tablet reducing hours of flippant conversation into concise notes. It was during these tedious gatherings however, in which her employer sought to make _light chat_ and dawdle as he did instead of adhering to his timetable, that she took to the written page and lingered there. Her pen halted, an opal teardrop teetering on the edge as she squeezed the pen between her fingers, nails whitening with the pressure as he drew _once more _away from the matter at hand.

Ardal, oblivious to her unyielding stare ran smooth circles along his glasses with a velvet cloth, his chest contracting still with remnants of laughter. Across from him sat Candor's leader Jack Kang, stern face lifted in a grin that could only surface in the absence of duty, Jeanine's lip curled with the barest hint of a sneer.

"It's true, every bit I assure you," Ardal's smile widened indulgently as he slid the glasses into his pocket. "The poor woman had to be escorted away to clean the blood from her eye."

"I'd never have guessed it of Marcus to be so clumsy," Kang chuckled following the in-depth retelling of how Abnegation's leader had struggled with the knife at his own ceremony.

John Ardal released an unsavoury snort,

"It's all a bit archaic for me, spilling blood," he pursed his lips, "hardly necessary…,"

"It is tradition," Jeanine gritted out abruptly, a moment of impulse and entirely uncharacteristic. It was the effect of John Ardal and his ever growing nature to sully the name of Erudite, to infringe upon its very core values.

His gaze slid to her disinterestedly where Jeanine met it head on and perused the dilation of his pupils, the quickness of breath, vying to keep in check her thinly veiled disgust.

_Filthy Addict. _

He exhaled heavily through his nose, turning once more to Candor's leader with a lazy smirk.

"Quite the _stickler _for rules our Jeanine," he drawled.

Her blood boiled.

"A flawless paragon of our faction no doubt," Ardal looked her in the eye. "But I always know how to get under her skin."

Kang's nervous laugh was short lived as he tugged at his pristine white collar, clueless of how to receive the statement. Jeanine averted her gaze under their joint stare, continuing the pretence that her notes contained anything of worth.

"Yes well the ceremony," Kang sought to instil the safety of business, "You said you had hopes of changing it?"

"The choosing process on the whole actually, you'll find my research to be quite enlightening."

"Oughtn't we to really schedule a formal meeting? Call in Joanna? Marcus?"

Ardal sucked in a short breath, his eagerness waning already at the mention of _formality. _

"Yes," he conceded with a sigh. "Such matters must be discussed with all members of the panel present I suppose…even if some are hardly worth the trouble."

The two men sniggered lightly as they thought of the Dauntless leader, Hank was not considered the most _valuable_ of contributors.

"Yes how he came to be where he is remains a mystery to me," Kang shook his head.

"I'm sure I don't know," Ardal's lips curled shrewdly. "Jeanine, contact the remaining panel and schedule a meeting for later this week would you?"

She lifted her head, defiance simmering in her eyes at his request.

"_Sir," _she urged, "wouldn't our attentions be better invested in the matter of the Div-"

Ardal threw up a hand to silence her; a dark warning trickled into his gaze.

"Now Jeanine you know not to interfere in our politics hmm?" he waited for her terse nod, "I don't want to have to remind you again.

The tense posture he'd possessed relaxed as he sank back into the seat, easing Kang's discomfort with a charming smile and engaging once more in discussions more trivial.

Meanwhile, an oozing puddle of ink dripped its way through paper as she carved the words with savage tenacity.

* * *

Eric dismantled his gun in haste, the precision with which he undertook such matters was absent as his thoughts lingered still on Mila's condition. Typical of these musings the subject often took a sinister turn when considering the perpetrators of her pain, the blackened cloth crumpled within his clenched fists, no doubt many of them roamed free within the compound.

Consumed in the moment there had been only her, many fled the abandoned warehouse with limping figures dragging on behind them. Only one remained skin sallow and blue as blood pooled from the severed stump of his arm. Eric had waited until he felt her haggard breaths slow, her body crumpling into his chest; before leaving the mess behind them.

_Along with the fuckers who did this_, he scrubbed at the barrel relentlessly. Careful footsteps sounded behind him, Eric whipped around, his body tensing instinctively as he glared at the figure ahead.

Four raised both arms and stepped into the dimly lit space.

"Hey, calm it it's just me," he noted his friend's shoulders relax a little and nodded to the barrel in hand. "You're not going to do much damage with that though, you know some of us actually put the gun together first?"

Eric rolled his eyes and tossed the cloth away; reassembling the weapon he conceded that it would not come out clean today.

"Last time I checked I don't need a gun to kick your ass," he remarked coolly.

"Yeah well check again a lot's probably changed in the _weeks _you've been hiding away," Four retorted, observing Eric's careless movements with raised brows.

"It's called work," he threw Four a disdainful glance, "you should try it some time."

Eric strapped the gun in to place and headed out into the main corridor where crowds headed for their next meal, he weaved through the bodies just as Four's snort sounded behind him.

"I don't buy it," Four matched his pace, "Is this to do with Hank's daughter?"

Eric halted as did his friend beside him, the crowd parted instantly, though they were not leaders they were still held in high esteem amongst the Faction.

"What do you know about that?"

"There's been some illegal fighting," Four shrugged lightly and eyed the crowd carefully before leaning in, "I know I've been hearing some strange things about the kid Hank's got you protecting."

A threatening glint flashed in Eric's eyes, Four could only assume it was a matter of pride, as it were all he could do was make assumptions, he had no idea the complexities his friend had become entangled in.

"Which is why I wanted to hear it from you first."

Turning to examine the crowd Eric exhaled, willing the fatigue that weighed him down to dissipate. He offered in his next few words, an air of nonchalance,

"It's nothing Four, just a rumour; you know how these things spread," he finished off with a casual smile.

Four examined him for moments more before giving a sharp nod; any earlier enthusiasm had vanished with this newfound secrecy

"Yeah well, anyway Hank wants to see you. Seemed pretty uptight about it."

"Unusual for him," Eric smirked.

Four's lips quirked with a smile as he joined the ascent to the food hall, calling over his shoulder,

"See you round."

Eric returned a nod and considered the way to Hank's office; their _courageous_ leader had certainly left it a while before summoning him. He walked against the crowd, heading instead for the quarters that had almost come to be his own.

_Hank can wait a little longer._

* * *

You become accustomed to a great many things when left to study them daily. For example, he knew inherently the faint network of purplish veins beneath her eyes; he knew every line etched into her lips and each and every freckle. Sometimes he read idly, no stranger to choice when perusing her extensive collection. The volumes stood side by side upon shelves of Amity's finest carvings, though such luxuries seemed futile given the lashings of dust adorning it. In the hours he was not required for patrol a portable radio rested on her bedside, the murmurs of soldiers on the streets sounding in the silent room.

Eric's latest find lay in his lap, 200 pages in and for the most part unread. The page slid against his thumb, a photograph had been tucked into the margin. His fingers brushed against it, intent upon pulling it out when the door opened. He slammed the book shut.

He was not met with the hassling presence of Janet's hovering, noting instead the quiet which followed; Eric knew her father had finally decided to make an appearance. Perhaps his paternal instincts had finally kicked in.

"I believe I gave orders for you to come see me."

_Perhaps not. _

"I must have missed your message," Eric replied, he did not turn to acknowledge his leader.

Hank walked around to the rear side of Mila's bed, his gaze swept over her for a moment before releasing an irritable sigh. The pockets of flesh which sagged beside his mouth seemed to have deepened and the outline of his skull stood more pronounced against thinning skin.

"Where are the restraints?"

"I didn't think they were necessary given her current state," Eric drawled.

Hank's eye twitched, he swallowed heavily and began towards the dining area.

"Then clearly we have more to discuss. Come," he beckoned.

Eric rose up slowly, placing the book beside her and following Hank to the grand table. It was an alcove he did not venture into, pulling out a chair he recalled the meal he'd shared with Mila in this chilling place.

"I'll get straight to the point here Eric," Hank announced, his watery stare perused the room oblivious for a moment he would not find the fix he was looking for, Eric looked down at the man's hands which trembled lightly in the absence of a drink.

"I should have you thrown out of here for the stunt you pulled with my daughter."

Eric reeled at his words, eyes narrowing in dismay.

"Excuse me?"

"I gave you direct orders to keep her out of harm's way-"

"To keep others out of _her _way," Eric cut in.

"Exactly," Hank spat, "The next thing I know several kids require severe medical attention after you _again _disregard my orders."

A wave of guilt weighed in on him, he could not deny it, none of this would have happened if he had not left her.

"I know I-"

"I don't want to hear what you think you know," Hank cut him off aggressively, "From now on you listen to me, this is your last chance Eric one more strike and you're out of here, don't even contemplate leadership now."

Eric's mouth snapped shut, teething grinding together as he fought to control the animosity in his gaze.

"She will be tutored privately until I feel she's fit for classes again, you won't need to escort her anywhere but where I tell you. You will visit the young man still recovering in medical and offer your sincerest apologies for what you did."

His head snapped up, Eric's eyes might have seared holes into the old man then.

"What I...?"

"A boy has lost his hand because of you; you cannot expect this to go unanswered."

A sinister edge trickled into his gaze as he drank in the Dauntless leader's words.

"And what exactly is it that I did?" Eric asked slowly, the acidity clear in his tone.

"You neglected your duties and in the following brawl between he and my daughter you saw to break up the fight, your aggression got the better of you and tragedy ensued," Hank weaved the lie together with such cool finality.

"When I offer my…apologies to the boy," Eric struggled with the words, "Is this how he'll remember it?"

Hank offered him a grim smile.

"I'm sure you can trigger his memory if need be." Hank stood, his hand rested limply on the gun strapped to his hip, it was a magnificent specimen but served for show more so than practicality.

"I'm glad we could clear this up," he cleared his throat and headed for the doorway, his hand pausing on the handle before turning to the younger man.

"Remember Eric, last chance." Hank glanced once more to the unconscious figure and released a satisfied sigh, shutting the door behind him.

Deadly still in the wake of Hank's departure Eric could not drag his eyes away from the door. His entire body bristled with fury, it had all been so quick, how easy it was for Hank to have the final word.

He paced the room, every muscle carried a crazed tension but his strides remained quiet, even in his reverie he would not disturb her. He had never pursued this mission, yet in his efforts to follow orders he had earned only degradation, the prestige of leader further away than ever. Hank had played him. Eric released a frustrated growl and fell heavily into the chair, tracing his thumb over his bottom lip in rough motions. He had allowed himself to become so absorbed by remorse he did not see the bigger picture, this was a man who had absolute power and he'd been foolish enough to think it would be shared. Max ought to have been proof enough that Dauntless was not the democracy it had once been.

He pulsed his fist which carried the faint scar of his decision; he recalled bitterly the eagerness with which he'd switched Factions. _This would never have happened in Erudite. _

An image of weeks past tugged at the threads of his conscious, the sound of prim heels echoing along the Dauntless floors, the steps becoming more urgent as she struggled to keep up with one John Ardal.

"_I'm sure we'll be working together a great deal in time." _

In becoming loyal to his faction Eric had stifled his cunning, calculative nature in favour of a more primal study. But he knew what he needed now to succeed. Hank did not answer to anyone within Dauntless but a man with so many shortcomings did not reach the top unassisted.

His mind raced with possibility, reaching Ardal would be no easy feat, moreover there was-

Eric's track of thought halted there, the pieces falling away until all that remained was the pair of eyes staring up at him. They did not possess the venomous edge that he'd come to know, she was simply looking.

Mila drew in her first waking breath in weeks, the motion ached yet brought satisfaction and a new found vigour. Her fingers trailed timidly across the sheets until they grazed his, tugging lightly until he encased her hand and drew in close. Mila buried her cheek against his shoulder, his rigid gait relaxed and she melted further into the hold.

"Thank you," she murmured into his ear, withdrawing her hand from his and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Eric did not question her, nor their newfound proximity as he brushed the hair back from her face and held her there. The answers he sought as to the events of the attack, to the years preluding it, they were pushed aside.

But one thing was certain; he would not leave her again.


	12. Revival

**A/N: Thank you to those following this story, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please let me know your thoughts, I enjoy reading your reviews :) **

* * *

Chapter 12

Sleep did not come easy to Jack now. A concoction of numbing agents and the sheer desire to recuperate had brought him dreamless nights at first. In time, his body adapted to the changes made, blood no longer flowed through the veins of his fingers, the limbs did not tense and flex and exist as they once had.

It was his mind however, that could not unlearn instincts and in the restless hours of night he awoke from fevered visions intent upon feeling his physical reality. But the memory that played on a sickening loop in his mind, the sensation of bones crumbling before his very eyes revealed itself no longer a dream.

His sight stung with the inability to submit to sleep, he could only stare out into the dark ward, hot tears growing heavy and seeping down his cheeks silently. Consumed by his own uselessness he could not even contemplate retribution, sometimes he thought he could hear the train whizzing past upon rickety tracks, beckoning for him to leave and accept he had no place here anymore.

The indulgent snores of a wall guard sounded beside him, filling the room with a gargling melody that he'd almost become accustomed to. The older man had been brought in hours earlier, releasing grunts akin to his snores as a nurse fussed over his fractured foot. Dauntless soldiers came and went regularly, each boasting a new story to accompany their ailments and urging Jack to share his own. It was only when their eyes landed upon the bandaged stump by his side that their smiles fell, throats bobbing as they settled back into their beds and allowed the quiet to filter in again.

The guard's breath hitched for a moment, a choked snort omitting from his nose before falling back into regularity. Jack tilted his head, the pillow cradling his cheek as he squinted at the ward's entrance. It was only once his vision adjusted that he saw a tall shadow still beneath the archway. Fear tore at his stomach, the first sense of self preservation he'd felt amidst weeks of loathing. The figure drew closer, steps muted upon vinyl floors, it was not until he had approached towering over him that he recognised a pair of grey eyes glinting.

Panic washed over him, with his instinct to flee growing ever ardent he lurched forward but found himself pressed further into the headboard, a foreboding hand heavy on his chest.

"Now there's no need for that," Eric spoke, "I only want to talk."

"If you're here to kill me then just do it man," Jack moaned, "I've been through enough already."

"You're not going to die today kid," Eric resisted a sneer as the boy relaxed visibly into the mattress. "In fact I want to apologise."

Jack looked up, confusion evident in his features and Eric took this time to inspect the bloodied gauze around his wrist, it really had been taken clean off.

He crouched down beside the bed, interweaving his hands and leaning in to speak,

"I want to apologise that she didn't finish the job, I want to express my sorrow that a lowlife like you is still breathing, that you and your little friends aren't rotting in the chasm now.

Jack felt dread sliding beneath his skin, he swallowed dryly.

"Wh-why are you here? If you don't want to…to-"

"You're no use to us now I imagine you realise," Eric drawled, "and I think we both know you don't belong anywhere else either."

The Dauntless born's mouth motioned silently, his own fears confirmed in those words.

"You're going to do some digging for me, get information on someone by any means possible."

"Who?" Jack asked timidly. Eric scrutinised him for a moment, straightening to a stand.

"Hank."

The boy's eyes grew wide,

"I can't! There's no way, if anyone caught me I'd-"

"You'd what?" Eric interjected acidly, "get kicked out? Join the factionless? You think that's any worse than what you're in for now?"

Jack allowed the words to sink in, he'd narrowly escaped death already, and the future didn't look any brighter. He met Eric's cold stare and nodded lightly.

"I don't get released for another week."

"Then that's when you'll start."

"What exactly am I looking for?"

"Anything that could compromise his position," Eric threw the heavy folder pertaining to Hank's initiation onto Jack's lap. "There's a start, and who knows, maybe when I'm leader I'll…overlook your setback."

A relieved smile tugged at Jack's lips as he nodded once more eagerly.

"Thanks."

"Mention this to anyone and I'll make sure to take the next hand," Eric warned and left as quietly as he'd come, leaving only his words to ring heavy in the boy's ears.

* * *

A trail of dribble clung to her chin as she came into consciousness, Mila squinted through her lashes at the pillow that now lay dampened beneath her cheek.

"Ugh," she pushed up away from the mattress and arched her back delighting in the clicks it induced.. A high pitched 'bing' sounded from the room, Mila peered through her hair at the familiar tone and found Eric reclined in her arm chair, one foot crossed over his knee as he scrutinised the tablet in hand.

She'd grown accustomed to his constant presence but these early morning visits had her questioning if he slept at all, she kneeled on the duvets and watched as Eric drew a thumb across a bottom lip before tapping the screen, another sound rang out. He lifted his gaze from the tablet and Mila found herself scrubbing away the traces of drool just in time.

He didn't speak at first, simply watched her quietly, and after the weeks of averted stares she felt vulnerable now. Her fingers enclosed the sheets, pulling them up around her, his eyes followed the movement before returning to the screen.

"You're up early."

"I always wake up at this time," Mila blew fiercely at the wayward curls covering her face.

"No you don't," he replied, a green glow washed over his face momentarily and she saw now it was akin to the tests provided at school.

"Yeah well…I'm recovering, I need the sleep."

"Because the last two weeks clearly weren't enough," he smirked.

"Coma's don't count," she waved her hand airily, "I didn't even dream, what's the point? Last night I dreamt I was in Amity milking a cow, except instead of milk the teats shot out straight vodka.

"That would explain a lot," Eric remarked, having grown quite used to these fantasies of hers, there was little else to do but entertain them.

"Do you think Mowbray carries a hip flask when he's taking me to school?"

"Driving you? I don't blame him."

Eric tilted his head, narrowly avoiding the pillow the hurtled his way.

"Try that again, see what happens," he shot her a dark look though the words held little menace. Mila released an unseemly snort and fell back onto the mattress with a thud, feeling around the sheets for a pad and pen she'd discarded the night before.

The next hour passed with little else but the subtle scratches of ink, the shifting of sheets as she rearranged her legs once more beneath her. She was no more an artist than a master doodler, filling the page with bold black lines until it resembled somewhat of a maze. When she heard the tablet ring out in victory she took the opportunity to steal glance at him, brief at first, then growing bolder she found herself staring openly, pen poised in hand.

She'd been in the midst of studying the slope of his jaw, the subtle tensing of muscle there when he caught her, lifting his gaze slowly to meet hers. Mila threw herself back into her work, feigning innocence she ignored the way her stomach flipped. Evidently it had not been quick enough however, when in her following attempts to brave a look she noted the corner of his lips lifted, eyebrow quirked as he met her stares with dark amusement.

Tracing the walls of the maze she'd crafted over and over she sought to ignore the strange pleasure derived in being seen. The disinterest with which she'd regarded his handsome features surely had not changed, he was after all, no different in that respect. Yet since the distance that had existed between them she felt an understanding now, as his actions surpassed that of purely duty she saw his drive to protect at any cost.

Was it any wonder these feelings should surface?

Mila stifled that thought, opting instead for the fail-safe guise of being entirely nonchalant. Ripping the paper away she balled it in her fist and took two lively strides to where he sat, stretching herself across the length of the cushion to ask,

"What is it you're doing anyway?"

Eric looked up to where she stared down at him wide eyed, a mass of hair curling down onto his shoulder.

"It's a test initiates are required to do in joining Erudite, one of many."

"…and you're doing this because?" Mila had contorted herself almost comically over the chair now, though her inquisitive eyes remained ever ardent.

"Do I have to have a reason?" he drawled. She groaned exasperatedly.

"You're not going to try and change Factions are you? I don't think they have a suit in your size."

Eric's hand paused over the tablet as he met her sweet smile, his eyes narrowed.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for your lesson?"

"It's not till tomorrow," she chirped and glanced down to the question on his screen, she reached out to tap an answer when his hand grasped hers roughly.

"Don't touch that."

"I know the answer!"

He looked too to the question that had proved the most pressing challenge so far and scoffed.

"There is no way-"

"Just let me try!" she grappled at his hand to no avail.

"No."

"I just want to-"

"Don't make me-" his threat went no further as she proceeded to swipe her tongue over his cheek in one slippery motion, distracting him long enough to break out of his grasp and press the desired answer. The screen glowed green.

He was still for a few long seconds before proceeding to wipe the saliva away with his sleeve. Eric watched as the next question flickered up, preluding a multitude of others, he sighed roughly and met her innocent expression with a glare.

"You can stay for five minutes."

Mila beamed and proceeded to throw her legs over his lap, burying herself into the space beside him.

She stayed for the rest of the test.

* * *

His mind was elsewhere tonight.

Max's mouth formed words, quite a number of them in fact and Eric thought he'd caught mentions of meetings, modifications to patrols, now however he possessed an arrogant smile, arm outstretched along the bar as he described his latest conquest.

Fortunately his friend was so immersed in his own voice he did not see the glazed expression with which Eric listened. Max's voice held an inflection towards the end, a question, Eric nodded, it seemed to be enough as the elder continued.

His memory relived again the sight of long, bare legs draped over his own, the curve of calf to knee and skin so warm he could feel it.

He'd almost reached out, curious to know whether the dips in her thighs were as pliable as they looked, if he could trace his palm up and along her hip and squeeze the generous flesh there.

Needless to say this was nothing more than a primal reaction, no stranger to his own libido he understood that the girl in question induced no desire in him. She was just a child, in age no but her mind was vulnerable, fragile, of this he was absolute. To indulge in any further fantasies would be to risk his place in her life, and her in his, somewhere safe.

With this sobering fact he'd trained his thoughts once more to the questions they tackled and entertained her musings with little more than wry civility.

"It just takes up too much time? You know what I'm saying?" Max shook his head and raised his empty glass, the refill came within seconds.

"You want another?"

Eric pushed his glass along the bar, a refusal ready on his lips when a young man stood before him, his panelled jacket hanging a little too wide on his shoulders, a recent addition to the Faction no doubt.

"Um, Sir?"

Eric raised his brows, waiting for the kid to make his point. The boy in question held out a phone, clearing his throat as he spoke.

"A man called into the control room, said he wants to speak to you."

"Did he gave a name?" Eric took the phone, his brows drawing together, nobody could just phone up their head system.

The boy shook his head, backing away from the two and exiting the bar in a hurry.

He found himself turning away from Max's inquisitive stare when raising the phone to his ear.

"Speaking?"

"Ah! Eric! Just the man I was looking for!"

"Yes..you did ask for me," he replied coolly.

"It seems you're not an easy man to get a hold of, and here I thought you were wanting to be found."

That tipped him off, he slid off the bar stool, gesturing for Max to wait as he strode into a darker corner of the room.

"John Ardal?" he asked quietly, though the answer was quite clear.

"Got it in one," Ardal replied brightly, "I received news today that a device outside of our system took part in one of the core exams."

Eric pressed the phone tighter to his ear, scanning the bar as he waited.

"Now usually I'd take little interest but I'm told the results were quite extraordinary. Some of the highest scores I've known in years. You can imagine my surprise when they traced the test back to you."

He did not reply, though his act had been noticed, it was whether it was the right attention that mattered.

"I had to ask myself," Ardal continued, "what does a successful officer in Dauntless want with a test like that…you're not regretting your choice now are you Eric?"

"Not at all Sir, I'm just where I want to be."

The Erudite leader chuckled.

"I see. Well you can imagine what a waste it feels to have such talent hiding in that Dauntless lair of yours."

Eric felt his lips curl into a smile.

"I appreciate that Sir but I'm definitely not hiding."

"That you are not," Ardal answered thoughtfully, "How about you come down to the leader's meeting in two days time, I'm sure it'd do you good to see how things are done."

He glanced at Max who was tapping his wrist and gesturing impatiently.

"It'd be my pleasure Sir, but perhaps Hank should-"

"Oh never mind Hank, he should be glad to have you! And call me John."

"Then I'll be there," Eric replied, resisting the urge to punch the air in victory. "Thank you…John."

"Until then my boy."

The phone line went dead and Eric returned to the bar. He removed his jacket, slinging it over the chair and regarded his friend with a smirk.

"I think I'll take that drink."


	13. Reveal

Chapter 13

**A/N: Okay so despite my dejection I just couldn't let this story go, I have such beautiful, twisted plans for these two and to make sure I stay motivated I've written a few chapters in advance and will be sharing them regularly. All I ask is that you enjoy and share your thoughts with me along the way. Thank you. **

* * *

Mila tugged at the itch inducing wool encasing her head, heavy perspiration coated her skin as the disguise she wore grew all the more humid. Peering out from the close confines of her wardrobe she observed the entrance to her chambers through a narrow opening. She shuffled anxiously amidst the hangers, exhaling each lungful of air in short, quiet bursts. The door handle rattled, it rotated furiously under the grasp of an impatient hand.

Mila grinned, _Janet. _

At last it was thrown open, her nurse entered, one arm laden with bedsheets as the other hand slicked back greying wisps. Janet dumped the sheets upon the floor and began to strip away the bedding, muttering to the air,

"She's in 'ere somewhere."

Mila bounced on her toes excitedly as Janet tucked the laundry beneath her arm and trundled towards the wardrobe. The nurse glanced over to the doorway, shaking her head with customary disapproval before wrenching open the wardrobe doors.

"_YAAARRRRGHHHHHHHHH!" _

Janet crashed back onto her bottom, a horrified squeal tearing through her lips as Mila emerged from the confined space dressed head to toe in black and wielding the sharpest sword she could pinch from her father's study. Haggard pants fell from the nurse's mouth, holding a hand to her heart she shuffled away on her backside.

"Don't kill me! Please! I'm not ready to die! I-"

"Silence!" Mila bellowed gruffly, watching as Janet's mouth snapped shut and taking a slow stride to lean in, her eyes glittered menacingly beneath the shades. Admittedly the weapon felt obscenely heavy and it took a great deal of will to hold it so still beneath the nurse's chin, trailing it down to her belly and revelling in the resulting gulp.

"I only want one thing," she hissed. The nurse omitted a shallow whimper as Mila trained the blade on her abdomen.

"M-my body?" Janet sniffed.

A tangible silence fell between them, Mila dragged her stare deliberately along Janet's dejected form. She dipped the sword into the pocket upon her breast and stabbed a chocolate toffee, the nurse's jaw fell open in outrage as Mila peeled away the mask and chewed happily.

"You know I'm going to pass on your offer but when I want to get it on with a boorish, old fart I'll give you a call." Mila flashed her teeth in a wicked smile.

"_Ah you wretched little shit!"_ Janet growled as she clambered to her feet. The sallow tone of her skin began to infuse a mottled red.

"This is the last time I put up with your antics! _I'm done_!" she yelled, charging towards the door.

"Hey could you put those on a light wash?" Mila gestured to the laundry, "I hate it when the clothes get all clingy."

"DO IT YOUR DAMN SELF!" Janet screamed, slamming the door behind her.

Mila pursed her lips and dipped the sword to poke through the discarded pile. A polite cough sounded in the empty space and Mila whirled round to face the unexpected visitor, a pair of lacy knickers hanging precariously from her blade.

* * *

As a student in Erudite Eric would never have been permitted access to the quarters of their revered leader, yet now, he made his way there with a certain arrogance that was born from his small victory. The civility however, now threw him. Weaving through throngs of heaving bodies wasn't even a necessity here; every worker walked in uniformity, much alike the matching blue buttoned down coats that adorned them all. In their pristine glass towers they worked under the beam of natural light.

He approached a huge door that no doubt required more than a push to be opened, and right on cue, two guards stepped in to receive him. He might not have realized were it not for the stitches laced over the boy's right brow, but this was not the first time they'd gotten in his way.

"You're not permitted to go in there," one announced coolly.

The other, the one who still bore the brunt of Eric's beating tightened his grip on the Taser in his jacket. Eric straightened, rolling his shoulders back to elicit a satisfying click. He leaned into these faux soldiers, vying to keep the happy composure he'd awoken with.

"Well how about you check again?"

The guards looked at one another and turned back to him with a stubborn scowl; Eric rolled his eyes and flexed his hands in preparation. He really didn't want to do this today…

"Hayward! Abraham! What do you mean by delaying our guest like this? Key him through immediately."

The voice appeared to have come from a hidden speaker, but the upbeat order was certainly Ardal's. Eric supressed a smirk as the scarred guard punched in the access code begrudgingly. He made a b-line for the crystallized dome that stood highest amidst the Erudite sector, there was no hindrance this time as the doors opened automatically.

He'd expected it, planned for it, but still the moment seemed surreal when the room was revealed and centre on sat the leaders staring up expectantly. That is, all but one leader, whose lips parted, frozen in an outcry. Eric walked round to an empty seat, Hank's outraged stare following him all the while. He surveyed the space for a moment; another table had been set up nearby – adorned with pastries, chocolates, spiced delicacies and an array of jugs, exotically coloured liquids swirling inside amidst the fruit.

A display that existed no doubt to exemplify Erudite's extreme wealth. He'd always been told it was a necessity to fund their experiments, their breakthroughs, but somehow he suspected differently now.

"I'm so thrilled you could make it my boy," Ardal inclined his head and slapped Hank vigorously on the back.

"I hope you don't mind my inviting this young man Hank, but such a promising mind ought to be utilized don't you think!"

The Dauntless leader made no efforts to dull the glare in his eyes but swallowed roughly, giving a timid nod. Hank clapped his hands together, and took his place at the head of the table, beside him sat two Erudite officials. The first, a balding, liver spotted man who did not tear his gaze from Ardal for a second. The next, a thin lipped PA who Eric recalled from the Dauntless compound, she looked back at him with undisguised interest, narrowing her eyes analytically.

"No doubt you know our leaders Eric," Ardal asked and received in turn, a nod. "and here beside me we have Jeanine Matthews and my most trusted colleague, Dr Paul Abraham."

Eric exchanged nods with them courteously, Abraham, so this was the bratty guard's father. He had little time to dwell on the fact before Ardal began again.

"I've requested you all here today to discuss the future of our prestigious choosing ceremony, _Jeanine." _She looked up from her notes, meeting his gaze dubiously.

"Why don't you sum up to them what we've discussed," he requested that patient smile ever present. Jeanine didn't speak at first, holding his expectant stare, a warning look flashed in Ardal's eyes and she turned to them then, straightening her files.

"In addition to our publicized undertakings, Mr Ardal and I have been overseeing-"

An undignified cough sounded from Abraham's throat. Jeanine pursed her lips.

"Mr Ardal, _Dr Abraham_ and I have been overseeing an experiment that looks to shorten the time a child spends in their initial Faction."

Apprehensive looks were shared amidst the leaders; Eric clasped his hands together on the table, leaning in further.

"It has been an accepted truth for many decades now that the human mind is not ready to withstand the trials our initiations put them through before the age of adulthood," Jeanine continued. "Our aim was to see if we could dispute this fact, if it is possible for a child to choose far sooner."

"And?" Jack Kang spoke abruptly, "Is it?"

The silence at the table was tangible, she held their curious gazes, reluctant almost, to answer.

"It is."

This spurred them into conversation, the leaders spoke amongst themselves in dismay. All but Hank, who was ignored by the rest, staring at the table with furrowed brows.

"How exactly is it," Joanne spoke out, the loud tenor of her calm voice piercing through the chatter, "That you found this out?"

Jeanine tapped the device around her wrist so that a screen filled with figures projected onto the wall before them.

"We-"

"Paid volunteers," Ardal boomed cheerfully, pushing away from the table and wheeling his chair over to the big screen.

"You will see here in this column a variety of ages! All rewarded subjects of a series of tests that were overlooked _meticulously_ by our good Doctor here," Ardal waved his hand dramatically in Abraham's direction. Eric noted the trembling in Ardal's fingers, beads of sweat gathering at his temples, he looked then to Jeanine who raised her brows.

"So you're saying this breakthrough came with no risks?" Joanne asked doubtfully, "It was all done safely?"

"I am thrilled you've asked me that, Joanne," Ardal nodded to Jeanine, who tapped her watch, dimming the glass roof until it infused with dark clouds and the screen's light was all that lit them.

The screen fizzled with grey static for a moment before a small dark room was shown, the wallpaper torn and scratched, a spotlight appeared, illuminating a small figure.

Eric hissed a silent intake of breath as the young girl looked past the camera, her oddball gaze fixed on someone else. Shyly, she raised a small hand to brush her curls behind her ear and tilted to head to listen to the voice that spoke.

"Hello, Mila."

Eric's hands clawed into his thighs as he stared at the screen in enraged silence, he dragged his eyes away to where Hank sat, saying nothing, doing nothing.

"Hi Dr Paul," she replied with a timid voice, Eric thought back to the film of her 7th birthday. The tiny jagged teeth that had fallen by then still existed, and were displayed in their entirety when she was handed a toy rabbit. The stuffing appeared to have long gone and it only sported one beady eye, but she cradled the raggedy creature happily.

"So I'm just going to ask you a few questions like we discussed, okay little one?"

Mila nodded enthusiastically, her wayward ringlets bouncing back into chaos.

"How old are you now? Mila?"

Without delay she threw her hands forward, proudly displaying one hand and a thumb.

"SIX!"

"Yes, and what Faction are you in?

"DAUNTLESS!" she cried, jerking a thumb to her chest, she wore a small black dress with velvet trimmings.

"Okay, and what school do you go to now?"

She swayed on her chair, holding the rabbit firmly by the ears.

"I go to the _HUB, _with my friends _chloooe _and-"

"That's right Mila, and can you tell everyone who's watching the special mission you're on?"

Mila's mouth opened in a dramatic O before she leaned in and whispered to the man off screen,

"The _top secret _special mission?!"

Chuckles sounded around the table, but Eric could not tear his eyes away from the screen.

"Mhm," the younger Dr Abraham's voice answered her.

Mila looked around the room wildly before leaning in closer and announcing proudly,

"I'm going to find out my Faction before ANY of my friends!" she grinned.

"How much earlier Mila?"

She held out both hands wide and then two fingers.

"Twelve?" Abraham asked.

Mila nodded again.

"Are you excited?"

Mila drew her knees up to her chest and buried her cheek into the rabbit toy.

"So much," she said.

The view shifted as the camera was moved to face an empty wall, her soft, excitable voice ringing out in the quiet room.

"I can't wait to tell mummy."

The screen fizzled out until all of the leaders sat in darkness. The artificial guise of night was removed from the roof and light was shed, leaving those around the table to ponder what they'd seen.

"Just one of our proud successes," Ardal wheeled himself back to the table and stood, the rest of the leaders followed suit, Eric moved blindly, his mind fixated on the image of her eyes, entirely free of pain, and tried to work out if he'd known a single truth in all the time he'd watched her.

"I understand you've all important things to do," Ardal gestured to the door which opened for them, "so please, just ponder on what you've seen until we can meet again. Jeanine will be in touch with further details."

Each leader filed out of the room, engaging in hushed conversations, Hank was the last to trail out and Eric found himself tailing the man vehemently when a voice called him back.

"Oh Eric?"

He turned to where Ardal approached him; the older man slapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you could come today, hopefully the experience was enlightening for you!"

Eric glanced down at the hand on his shoulder and up to Ardal's eyes which seemed almost magnified and laced with red.

"It was," he answered, and it wasn't a lie. He made to leave but Ardal's grip tightened.

"Because you know why I wanted you to see this don't you?"

Eric's fingers twitched at his sides, searching for a weapon that wasn't there, he looked back at the Erudite leader apprehensively.

"I gave Hank the power he has today," Ardal said quietly, "and he's disappointed me."

John removed his hand and interlinked his fingers together, Eric stepped away, allowing him to finish.

"I can make you great too."

Eric drank in the words, the possibility, a promise of leadership.

His lips curved into a small smile.

"Thank you John."

He exited the building, scanning the road for Hank's signature ride. The Dauntless leader's car was metallic black, long and shallow and built for speed. It was also nowhere to be seen. Eric released a frustrated growl and made towards the rail tracks, swinging himself onto the train with practiced precision he looked out to the city which passed in a blur.

* * *

"So you must be all kinds of smart huh?" Mila said breezily, she lay now with head dangling of the bed, the sword and her frightening disguise discarded in a pile with the rest of her laundry.

"I know enough," the woman replied, her thin body was wrapped in a long grey dress, a tattered shawl sat around her shoulders, warding off the winter bite.

Mila scratched the inside of her ear vigorously with a pinky finger and pointed it at the woman as she spoke.

"Oh I get it," Mila spread her arms wide on the mattress and flapped her legs as though making sheet angels. "You've got that whole selfless act going on, 'I'm a genius but I'm not going to say that because I will not toot my own horn, blah dee blah, you know'."

She halted her rapid motions, and threw herself to the side so she was now on her tummy, chin in hand, awaiting an answer expectantly.

The lady was quite beautiful really, her hands were aged and lined and woven with veins that looked like the marks of a fine brush. Her hair had been tucked into a bun but a few hairs had escaped to frame her small face and crinkled eyes.

"It's not an act," she laughed, "and I'm certainly no genius."

Mila observed her suspiciously, though the smile seemed genuine enough.

"Of course it is, nobody in this world is selfless. I know that more than anything else."

"You're right," the woman answered. "But we can try to be."

"DAH!" Mila threw up her hands animatedly, "I SO knew you were going to say that! How boring, the whole thing's boring!"

The Abnegation woman tried to stifle a smile behind her hand.

"Why though?" Mila blurted out, "Why would you want to spend all that time investing in other people's problems?"

"Because you're helping them," she said calmly, "Which makes you feel good."

"AHA!" Mila pointed at her and then at the sky as though in victory, "So it IS to serve your own needs, and I gotta tell you Natasha-"

"Natalie," the lady corrected.

"Natalie, I can think of a ton more things that'll make me feel good, better even, you know like reading or singing badly and out of tune."

"A worthwhile use of your time," Natalie said, her eyes filled with mirth.

"A _fantastic _use of my time," Mila rolled across the bed until the sheets encased her and tottered over to Natalie, circling the older woman with comically narrowed eyes. She stopped; they faced each other silently, sussing the other out.

"Classical," Mila called out. A violin's song filled the room, building and increasing in volume until it plummeted to allow the sweet, sad notes of a piano.

"Nice but I prefer Trance," Natalie said, and obedient as ever, the soothing sounds were replaced with a thumping bass.

"Interesting," Mila hummed, transferring bedsheets into one hand and ruffling her hair with the other. "You know I don't really need a tutor."

Natalie did not repute this, just continued to watch her with infuriatingly sympathetic eyes.

"What do you need then?"

Mila thought for a moment before returning her eyes to the woman with an unblinking stare that unnerved most.

"A friend."

"I can be your friend," Natalie replied.

"I don't have friends," Mila dismissed her; "I don't want them."

"I don't believe that's true."

Mila curled her tongue along the roof of her mouth and bounced impatiently on her toes.

"I think you'd regret being friends with me Natalie."

"Now I know that's not true," Natalie said softly, she walked into the adjacent suite and began to pull heavy textbooks from her satchel.

"But whilst you decide, why don't we start with some Algebra."

"I'm not much of a maths whizz," Mila hesitated before pulling out a chair to sit beside her.

"Nor am I," Natalie perused the pages, "I guess we'll just have to work it out together."

* * *

Four cringed into his seat at the sound of Eric's knife squealing against the dish, it wasn't the first time during the course of dinner that he'd savaged his steak so tenaciously.

"Want any salt with that plate Eric?" Max grunted, forking a chunk of grease ridden beef into his mouth.

As expected they received no reply, their friend had never been liberal with words but now they'd be lucky to hear him utter one in their direction. Neither was clueless as to why.

"How's the runt?" Max questioned, certain that this might elicit some form of response.

Eric swallowed the last morsel of his meal and dropped his cutlery so that it clattered loudly on the steel dish. He shoved away from the table and Max opened his mouth ready to declare some sour truths when a boy approached them, one hand rubbing a stump where his other should have been.

"Outside," Eric ordered coldly, stalking out of the hall, the boy looked at them anxiously for a moment before hurrying after.

"What is with him," Max muttered, loading a second helping onto his plate.

"I have no idea," Four answered, staring at the archway through which his friend had left.

"What do you have for me?" Eric demanded, shoving Jack into an alcove away from prying eyes.

"Well I read the file like you asked me," Jack began shakily.

"_Yes…?" _

"And I didn't find anything."

Eric's jaw ticked, he took a step closer.

"But I did find this!" Jack blurted out, holding up a small metal chip.

"Hank wanted t-to see me so that he could ask me about, well," Jack stared up at him anxiously, "Y-you, and I found it on his desk, I don't know what it is, I'm sorry I-"

"No," Eric cut in, "You've done well."

"I have?" Jack asked in dismay.

Eric twisted the chip in his hand, tracing his thumb over the edge.

"You can go, I expect you to keep an eye out for anything else."

"Yeah, okay, I will!" Jack babbled, running to re-join the crowds.

Eric concealed the metal chip in his jacket and began towards his quarters without delay. If this was what he suspected, then answers were well within his grasp, the blank space between the hopeful girl in the video and the one who existed today.

The truth.


	14. Rewind

Chapter 14

**A/N: I'm Sorry. **

* * *

Sixteen hours of footage existed on that file.

Eric had checked, he'd gotten through a shift in the field, dismissing the soldiers with distracted commands and in returning home inserted the chip into the computer. He entered Atala's name and there the dates were, all ranging over a 3 year span.

At eight in the morning, he poured himself a glass of bourbon and slid into his armchair. The computer projected a black image onto the bedroom wall, a blurred date hovering in the bottom most corner.

Eric took an indulgent sip of the amber liquid, it scoured his throat and he was glad for it. He drained the glass and set it down so it chinked against the sideboard. Keeping the bottle in close sights he killed the lights and cued the footage.

* * *

_**Six years old.**_

Mila released a bored sigh as she watched the grown-ups work, they said this would be _fun. _

She tilted back in the plastic chair, jerking it roughly so she squeaked back along the floor. A giggle tore through her lips, she moved back again, and again, it was tremendous fun. Then it wasn't, she brought Floppy up to her face and addressed the rabbit with a sigh.

"This _sucks," _she whispered the last word, looking around to check she'd gone unheard.

Mila nodded the rabbit's head and squeakily replied.

"_We should run away!" _

"Floppy!" Mila reprimanded, "We can't do that! They have cameras."

"_I don't care, I want cake! cake! cake!" _

"You can have all the cake you want when this is finished," an amused voice sounded through the speakers. Mila jumped, staring up to where Sammy waved at her from the other side of the glass. Sammy was her absolute _favourite _doctor; he gave her huge star shaped stickers in all sorts of colours. She waved back and threw Floppy at him, it hit the window with a thump and fell to the floor, Sammy gasped and held a hand to his heart in mock hurt, Mila laughed wildly.

A sound like that of gas being released from a bottle filled the room when the door opened, Mila's smile wavered somewhat when Dr Milton walked in. Dr Milton had long spidery fingers and a stern face that different greatly from her _favourite _doctor. Mila looked down to the sharp needle oozing liquid in the doctor's hand and screamed.

"_DA-DDY!" _she cried as the woman grasped her firmly by the wrist. Mila gazed through the window desperately, struggling within the Doctor's grip.

"Your Daddy has just gone to have a talk with Dr Abraham sweet," Sammy said reassuringly, "Just be still for a second okay?"

"B-BUT IT'LL HURT!"

"Now what do the Dauntless say?" Sammy asked her, it wasn't the first time.

"Be Brave," she replied dully.

"And are you brave Mila?"

She gulped miserably, meeting his wide eyed stare through the window and nodded.

"Y-_OWWWWWWWW!" _

The needle was gone before she could catch it, but the stinging sensation remained. Mila glared up at Dr Milton and stuck out her tongue.

"Watch yourself, young lady," Milton warned, tucking the chair under her arm she exited the room.

"Okay Mila we are going to start the dream now and I want you to stay as calm as possible. Can you do that for me?"

Mila rubbed her sweat ridden hands together, this didn't seem like as much fun now and the room smelt mouldy.

"Yes, Doctor Sammy."

"Good girl."

She squeezed her eyes shut expectantly, because that's how dreams worked right?

Her eyes flew open when a hand swiped at her, a surprised squeak tore through her throat. It wasn't dark anymore; it was in fact startlingly white. Mila jumped when another bodiless arm touched her, pinching the skin it found there.

Her breaths were falling fast now, her chest heaved as she blinked over and over, willing for the window to be back, for Sammy to be there with his stickers.

A hand pressed hard against her stomach, she toppled to the floor and scrambled back on her bum. Tears fell salty against her lips as a hand tugged on her hair whilst another held her down, there were more now, so many she could not count, could not see beyond the sobs.

"STOP!" she wailed, "STOP IT!"

But they wouldn't, they clung on and clawed her skin. She screamed, she screamed until her lungs were raw and there was nothing left but a silent shriek leaving her lips.

There was no white visible now, just decapitated arms, hundreds of them, poking and prodding and _peeling. _

Then as though someone had flipped a switch, the hands were gone and there was a ceiling above her. Her skull throbbed as though it had been banged multiple times. Mila couldn't move, her body trembled violently as she stared up emptily.

"Good job Champ!" Sammy came into view; something soft was tucked under her arm as he crouched down and stuck a big copper star on her dress. "I just need you to be a little calmer than that next time okay sweet?"

Shakily she looked down to where Floppy lay, its beady eye watching her dejectedly.

"_We should have run kid."_

* * *

_**Seven years old. **_

Consciousness in solitude was a luxury now, the sick loathing she felt for this room made sedation a necessity. It only lasted so long however, and when her eyes fluttered opening, willing away the heavy sensation in her skull, she knew she was prisoner once more to the nightmares.

"NO!" she roared, it was a haggard, painful sound born from months of onslaught.

"_NO-OO!"_ her eyes stung with tears, she banged her fists against the floor repeatedly. It was a free movement, as were all her actions in this room where she moved freely; too young to understand why something in her head could result in so many scratches and scars.

"Now Mila, that's enough of that," Dr Abraham reprimanded her through the speaker. Nobody came to inject her; such procedures were done when she was out cold.

"It won't get easier with all those crocodile tears young lady!"

She ignored his words, they were all liars, Sammy, Daddy, they were all big fat _liars!_

"You stop that right now!" he boomed through the speaker.

Mila's sobs choked in her throat and she turned to gaze miserably through the window.

"That's better," he said, softer, "Remember how much easier it is when you're calm?"

She didn't remember that at all, but nodded anyway. The presence of her beloved toy was no longer a comfort; she'd ripped Floppy in half during one of her nightmares.

Abraham looked to the young man beside him and Mila followed his gaze, she didn't know what his name was, but he was huge and tall with a gut to match, and when he nodded to the Doctor, it made her sick with fear.

"Alright little one," Abraham said and Mila knew what was coming, he said it now with toneless monotony.

"Be Brave."

Blinking neither encouraged nor chased away the inevitable so she kept her eyes open as the glass barrier became a game laden shelf and the room around her switched to forest green. Fairy lights had been pinned along the ceiling with vine leaves interwoven in the spaces.

The rustic wooden bed jutted out of the wall with a ladder to match to make the room seem like an enchanted treehouse. This was a heartfelt desire, the room she'd always craved as she fell asleep in her mother's arms, the sound of monsoon showers and crackling storms existing in a place that could not touch them. Yet she was nowhere to be seen and not a sound could be heard but her own ragged breaths. Mila ran to the door and rattled the handle, the door would not budge and the moment she stepped away it melted into the wall.

She climbed the ladder and dove under the duvet, perhaps if she did nothing to disturb the dream it would stay like this, it would be nice to her until it ended. Mila cocooned herself in the blankets, rocking herself back and forth as though she were being held and someone might say,

"This is the last time, you don't have to go back there darling, you never have to go back."

Mila inhaled a deep breath and let it go, lowering the blanket from her eyes.

Terror paralyzed her body when she saw the man staring at her from the doorway, that is he might have been looking, but she did not know. Because he had no eyes, no nose, no mouth, it was as though the features had sunken back into the flesh.

The vine leaves began to creep along the lights, snuffing out each one so that it could only flicker weakly; they snaked down the wall and up the legs of her bed. They branched out as they grew closer, turning the mattress into its own ivy nest.

Mila cowered back into the wall as the faceless man approached her noiselessly; the leaves crawled behind her, snaking along her body and through her hair. She could not scream, only watch as it got closer, so tall that he might have been eye to eye with her, had he possessed any. The semblance of a mouth cut through his skin when he got face to face with her, the hole in the flesh smiled for a moment before getting bigger, displaying row after row of teeth.

It lunged at her, she closed her eyes.

"OH FOR FUCK SAKE, CAN SOMEONE CLEAN THAT UP?!"

With eyes still squeezed shut she inhaled the rotting smell of the simulation room and allowed a couple of stray tears to fall down her temples. Mila's chin felt wet with dribble, her legs and back began to feel impossibly cold, she shivered, looking down to the puddle that surrounded her.

A pair of arms scooped her up, a mild sound of disgust leaving their lips at the feel of her sodden tights. Weighed down with exhaustion she did not try to fight, allowing her body to go limp.

* * *

_**Eight years old. **_

With little else to do but wait, Mila liked to stare. She liked to stare at all of the doctors in turn until their eyes twitched and their collars felt too tight around their neck. Sometimes, she would choose just one to fixate on – it was remarkable really want a child's stare could do, she used to add in a growl, or a snarling, biting motion. But that just didn't do the job; the trick was to keep completely still, blinking to an absolute minimum, and watch them with the barest, faintest of smiles.

Today's choice was Dr Milton. Milton liked to pretend she was still the stern woman Mila had seen in the beginning, but it simply wasn't true. Beyond that impenetrable mask was a person who could barely sleep through their guilt, the good Doctor's chair was always empty when Mila came to from the visions, she couldn't even stay to _look. _Dr Milton scribbled something on the papers before her, there were pouches of dark skin beneath her lashes and when she looked up, Mila could see the little red veins working in her eyeballs.

Mila gave Dr Milton a special smile today, reserved just for her, the sweetest she could muster. The old woman held her intent gaze for all but a few moments before fleeing the room. Dr Abraham tssked through the speaker.

"Fetch her back would you Samuels?"

Sammy's fingers flew across the monitor before him and gave a swift nod, swivelling out of his chair and following after her. Sammy didn't have much patience for Mila anymore, it was probably due to the fact she tore every star he offered her and spat on his face when he got too close.

Dr Abraham exchanged looks with the large man beside him, who through keen eavesdropping Mila had come to learn was called 'Chins.' When Chins' lips parted, eyes narrowing in concentration, the room disappeared, with such signs identified – it made the process that much more expected.

Unfortunately, never easier.

"Ready Mila?" Abraham asked.

He didn't anticipate an answer and she never gave one.

The toll of the school bell resonated along the corridors, signifying for lunch. The hallway was unusually long, so much so it spiralled into the distance and every classroom door creaked open in unison.

"_FREA-AK!" _a girl's voice echoed out tauntingly. It was not entirely unfamiliar, nor was the student that approached her now with crowds in tow. There were subtle differences however, the blacks and whites in her Candor uniform swirled together like inkblots and all of their faces were blurred having been conjured from memory.

The girl grinned and it stretched along her face like a caricature, she reached into her bag and cackles echoed off the walls as a kitchen knife was produced. Mila stumbled on her laces in an attempt to retreat; the girl twirled the blade in her fingers for a moment before slashing it in her direction. Mila clashed into the lockers and the metal caved in under her weight, a cacophony of stamping indecipherable jeers filled the corridor, she dove to the left as the knife came at her once more, leaving a bloody gash in her shoulder.

Every student was drawing in closer, leaving no room to escape. Mila shoved her hand into the satchel round her neck, tearing through the textbooks and napkins that hindered her path. The point of the blade flew towards her face and she jerked away so that it embedded itself into the lockers instead. The Candor girl tugged fiercely to free it and Mila wasted little time in stabbing the girl's hand with a fork, she released a screeching wail and intervening hands tried to pull Mila away as she shoved the girl into the locker, propelling her fork into the girl's body relentlessly. It was as though her veins had been pumping lead and now her limbs flew free, exacting every act of savagery she'd been incapable of before.

It was glorious and easy and she didn't stop, not even with the hissing and the screaming, nor the fingernails flaying her back, imploring her to cease. Then the blows became more difficult, painful, her knuckles screamed at her to let up, the flesh was worn through revealing traces of bone. Streams of blood coated her hands and stained the floor, they trembled unstoppably as she keeled back, unable to stay conscious through the pain.

"I can't believe it worked," a voice crackled through the speaker. The door opened, hands were dragging her as the darkness filtered in.

"_WHAT THE FUCK!? WHAT THE FUCK ABRAHAM YOU SAID SHE WOULDN'T GET HURT! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL ATALA?!" _

"Keep your voice down Hank, we'll fix this."

"_No! No fucking way! This is it, it's done!" _

"This isn't done until I say so, don't you see what's just happened?! We're about to make history here."

"_And when she breaks her neck next time? Huh? What then?" _

"She won't," Abraham assured him, "We're going to make sure of that."

* * *

The skin of his knuckles was white as he gripped the neck of the bottle, the clip cut out and he snapped his head to where it hovered over the glass, both now entirely empty. Bile burned his throat and fresh gouges ran through the chairs arms where he'd forced himself to watch every single second.

He'd wanted to end it within the first hour, crush the chip into the ground and find the perpetrators so that they might taste some retribution. But to do so would be an injustice to the girl who had lived those hours in years.

A red light blinked from his computer, the only source of light left within the dark room. Eric began to rise from his chair but stopped when another date flickered in the corner of the screen, months later than the previous one. He sank back down, fingers clawing into his knees as he awaited the film with trepidation.

The image wavered on the screen before stilling, it displayed the entirety of the simulation room through a window, an array of monitors lay at the bottom with vitals, figures and the numeric interpretations of the dreams. Mila sat cross legged beyond the glass, her curls were matted and severed so they hung at different lengths. Her dark skin had a sallow blue quality to it and her eyes stared out with a certain despair that no child should possess.

The door to the room had been replaced with a titanium structure, loaded with multiple bolts.

"Ardal! This is unexpected," Abraham's voice blurted off screen

"Well I just wanted to check in, see if everything was going smoothly. The implant?"

"A huge success Sir, she's displayed a remarkable increase in strength these weeks past."

"Fantastic," Ardal picked up a test tube and played with it idly, "You won't mind if I stay then?"

"O-of course Sir, please, take a seat."

The Erudite leader strolled out of shot, and Mila's eyes traced his every move. Resounding bangs signified the barriers closing around the testing area. Doctor Abraham took his seat, murmuring quietly with a man off screen; minutes passed with the usual procedures and the girl did not move an inch. She was masterfully still and nothing like the child that had sat there three years prior.

Voices filtered out until the beeping of the monitors was all that rang out, Abraham nodded to his colleague.

Mila's eyes glazed over when she stood, turning on her toes as she observed her surroundings. She ran to one of the walls and rotated her hand, trying to open something; her efforts appeared to be fruitless as she began to kick instead. Mila continued the tirade stubbornly for some time before retreating into the opposite corner; she dove to the floor and surveyed the space carefully, as though looking for something in particular.

"Looks like 'ol faceless is back," Dr Samuels remarked and Abraham released a short chuckle.

She froze, her body tensing as she stared at the blank wall. The heart rate on the monitor began to increase rapidly and she shuffled away with a whimper. One arm jerked up against the wall as though being pinned there, followed by the other, her face frozen in a scream.

An alarm broke the silence in the testing area, it reverberated off the walls sending the workers into disarray.

"WHAT'S GOING ON OUT THERE?" Abraham bellowed, looking desperately to where Ardal watched. He scrambled from his seat as the doors to the testing area opened, a soldier in Dauntless uniform slid across the screen as he was kicked viciously be an unknown assailant.

"YOU BASTARD!" A woman screamed, enraged. "OUR OWN DAUGHTER, YOU COWARD! YOU BASTARD!"

Hank was thrown into one of the monitors, his face frozen as a woman dressed in identical Dauntless wear pinned him down, her black curls flying everywhere as she punched him mercilessly in the face.

Atala's fist froze in place as a shrill scream rang out through the speaker. She looked up to the window where Mila crawled along the floor, trying desperately to escape her attacker.

"Baby!" Atala cried out, she sprinted to the door and slammed her hand down on the button, the titanium door opened with a hiss.

"_NO!" _Hank shouted, cradling his bloodied nose. "_DON'T!" _

He moved round to catch it but the swung shut behind her, two more Dauntless guards dragged him back.

"Nobody else goes in there!" Doctor Abraham pointed at the glass.

"That's my wife!" Hank cried, "You have to shut it down!"

Atala approached her daughter slowly and crouched down where she lay, Mila's head twitched as she stroked a hand down her hair.

"Baby," she said, her voice thick with anguish, "Baby it's okay, it's alright, I'm here now."

Mila was limp as Atala pulled her into her arms, cradling her close as tears fell down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I didn't know. My sweet baby."

Hank stopped struggling against the guards as he watched Mila look up at her mother, the doctors waited with bated breaths.

Atala nuzzled her daughter's cheek, wrapping her arms around Mila's trembling body as tightly as possible. Mila cocked her head to the side, staring up blankly.

"It's over, just shut it down!" Hank implored and Abraham exhaled in frustration, reaching towards the monitor.

"Wait!" Ardal's voice rang out, "Just a little longer, I want to see this."

The doctor nodded and leaned back.

Mila's breath hitched as she lay in her mother's arms, she began to struggle, her face contorted in terror.

"Mila stop!" Atala cried, "Stop, it's okay!"

But she could not, she struck out wildly sending Atala crashing to the floor. Mila climbed on her mother's body and with impossible strength, wrapped her hands around her neck, and pressed.

"NO! STOP!" Hank roared, lurching forward only to be yanked back by the guards.

"Chins! Shut it off!" Abraham urged.

"I'm trying!" he cried, keying codes into the monitors which had crashed upon being hit.

Choked gasps left Atala's throat whilst Mila held her down with unyielding ferocity, her face began to purple and rabid spit gathered in the corners of Mila's mouth as she squeezed her windpipe in a possessed fervour.

"Pl-e-ea-," Atala begged but it was relentless and the nightmare would not stop, could not stop until her eyes rolled back into the skull and the purple became blue and a haggard sigh filled the air as her mother expelled her last breath.

Mila held on as the faceless creature wilted beneath her, she continued to squeeze, her face twisted with rage, willing it to disappear.

And then she saw it,

With agonizing clarity, she saw her mother lying there, face frozen in a silent scream, her throat blackened with bruises beneath her fingers.

Mila could only stare, because this was a nightmare, it was just another vision, it wasn't real!

She shook her mother's lifeless body.

"WAKE UP!" She screamed.

But she wouldn't she just kept staring and not moving, Mila buried her head into Atala's chest and hugged her tight, she would wake up, she always woke up to cuddles.

"PLEASE!" She begged, tears glided down her nose as she pressed her face into her cold neck.

"Please come back," she whimpered.

Mila peered through her mother's curls to the window ahead, to the faces staring, to her father watching in paralyzed shock. The simulation was over. She ran her small, delicate fingers over her bluing lips, this was real.

A tortured howl severed the silence and rang out mournfully until the camera cut to black.


	15. Requital

Chapter 15

**A/N: This chapter is pretty short but I'll be updating again very soon. Let me know your thoughts on the story thus far. **

* * *

The projection had long died out, and where exhaustion should have settled in, allowing him to succumb to the darkness, he could only fester in his own rage. Eric's fingers tightened around the glass in hand, hurling it at the wall and watching as it splintered on impact. He ejected the chip and slit the underside of his mattress to conceal it, it would have to do for now.

Shoving the empty bottle in the bin he left the room as pristine as he'd found it and slipped into the guise of night.

* * *

Mila's eyes cracked open at the disruption, someone was calling her name. She grunted her dissent and nestled further into the pillow, the duvet had long been discarded.

"Mila," the voice called out again, it was gruffer than that of her incessant nurse but she really couldn't care less. She hissed in their general direction and shuffled across the mattress.

"Wake up kiddo."

Huh, now that did peak her interest. Mila peered over her shoulder and squinted at the tall figure half cast in the lamp light.

"Eric?"

He leaned down at the name, splaying his fingers wide on the mattress, Mila rolled across until she was directly under his stare.

"Is that stubble?" she asked in dismay, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"Never mind that," he answered and began to retreat back before she clasped his hand.

"Don't please, I'd rather you stayed there."

To her surprise, he complied without a word.

"Mila?"

"Yes?"

"How would you like to go for a drive?"

* * *

They cruised the streets for some time, the car had two seats done up with soft cloth upholstery as opposed to leather, it was more personal than the vehicles she was used to. Mila snuggled into the duvet she'd insisted on bringing and gazed out at the empty city, occasionally a light would pass over them before settling back into dusk. She curled her legs beneath her and peeked at Eric, he held the wheel with both hands, his eyes never wavering from the road. Stubble coated the breadth of his jaw and sombre circles lined his eyes that she knew was not the work of shadow.

He glanced at the side mirror, drifting for a moment before parking the car in an abandoned bay on the outskirts of the city. He didn't look at her, just kept staring ahead, his hands pulsing on the wheel.

"Eri-"

"I've been thinking for a while," he bit out, "for quite some time actually, trying to figure it out, make some sense out of the situation and-"

He stopped, his body tense with frustration as he struggled to convey the words.

"Even after going through it over and over in my mind, trying to understand-" he turned his head and looked at her, fists clenching on the wheel.

"I still can't find a reason why so many people would just stand by and watch, as a kid is tortured in front of them."

Mila shrunk back into her seat, the weightlessness of before disappearing as she felt panic stricken behind her for some sort of exit.

"Why a father would offer his daughter up _willingly," _he hissed.

Her fingers curled around the handle and she yanked, her mind dizzying with dread as it did not yield, the door locked into place.

"Let me out," she spat, eyes wide and desperate, searching the car for another escape.

"Not until you tell me the truth."

Mila's hand snaked up to her neck, chest expanding and falling rapidly. She snarled at him, flight instinct in overload as she slammed her shoulder into the door repeatedly.

"Fuck you!" she seethed, increasing her efforts, "I don't have to tell you a damn thing!"

Eric moved then, his arm heavy against her chest as he pinned her to the seat and gripped her face hard, forcing her to look at him.

She narrowed her eyes, struggling in his hold when he slammed her back again.

"You want to know what he's told me about you?" he growled, "he said you're a _dangerous schizophrenic, _a mental case!"

Mila fought violently against his arm, hair flying across her face as she snarled through gritted teeth,

"I AM! I AM I A-"

He pushed her hard against the seat, his hand tightening around her chin.

"Your father is a liar."

Mila met his forceful gaze, she could smell the sweat on his skin now and the dark circles belied his true exhaustion. She allowed her body to relax but eyed him still with suspicion.

"You're right," he let go of her face but kept her body locked beneath his, "You don't have to tell me anything."

Mila's brows drew together in confusion, her breaths falling in small pants from the earlier struggle.

"But right now everything I know about you is a picture painted by your asshole of a dad and anyone else with a story to tell. And they have a lot to say."

She averted her eyes to stare ahead but he only drew in closer.

"Do you understand?" he asked coolly.

She gave a small rapid nod.

"Have you ever told anyone?"

Mila remained quiet with thought, though she knew, of course she knew.

"No," she whispered almost silently.

Eric's impassive gaze moved over her face once before he lifted one hand to her seat, the other on the car door, caging her in.

"Why did he do it?"

She looked up at him, holding his stare purposefully as she spoke.

"Because it made him a leader."

The conflict was evident in his expression, dissatisfaction at her words.

"He was never cut out for Dauntless, I remember the arguments even then. They were going to make him Factionless and he knew it," Mila shook her head, eyes lost in a memory.

"So they didn't give him a choice?"

"No, he had a choice," she said quietly. "He chose to give them me."

Eric's expression remained cold, but she could see his shoulders tensing as he curled his fingers into the seat behind her.

"They're leaders Eric," Mila read the intent in his eyes and looked to the stretch of wasteland surrounding them, her next words coming in a ragged whisper,

"I can't undo what they did."

The bleakness in her stare was eerily familiar, as though her defeat had been marked many years before in the simulation cell. He kept the closeness for a while longer, simmering in his own wrath as he watched her hopeless silence.

Then he pulled away and ignited the engine, one arm spread along the seat behind her whilst he reversed onto the long road home. She tilted her head to look at him and he met her gaze with resolve in his eyes.

"We'll punish all of them," he swore, a slant of light crossed over his face as they re-entered the city.

"We'll make it right."


	16. Rabid

Chapter 16

**A/N: I'm so excited to be reaching this part in the story, I've envisioned this and the scenes you'll find in the following chapters for so long now. Let me know what you think. **

* * *

_"I've found a way to live with the blood on my hands, can you?"_

To Mowbray Sutton, the dumping ground was a treasure chest of charms, an accumulation of forgotten finds from the Factions. It was a rare thing to see the city united in any form, but here their history lay in abundance.

"This place reeks!" a voice whined nasally.

Mowbray cast an endearing glance to his grandson, the young boy pinched his nose as he proceeded to kick a rusted steel mug into the trees, it bounced amidst the bark for a moment before landing on a twig.

"SCORE!" he cried, sprinting off to find more piles to rummage through.

The tractor hummed beneath him, a mechanical bucket plunged into the dirt and discarded it elsewhere, showering his ride with soil in the process. Mowbray twiddled the radio dial with muddied fingers and whistled jovially whilst reversing. The vehicle lurched on uneasy ground; Mowbray glanced into his side mirror to find a figure standing on the tracks, he hit the breaks abruptly.

"_Jeepers!"_

Mowbray was still in the process of quelling a heart attack when Eric appeared at the window, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark reflective shades.

"Sir!" the old man waited out his breathlessness before continuing, "I'm afraid I didn't see you, is Miss Mila needing a trip today?"

Eric smiled and flicked open a small box with his thumb, a number of toothpicks lay inside. He held it out to the chauffer expectantly.

"No thank you, my boy."

Eric lifted one to his mouth and perused their surroundings disinterestedly.

"You're working two jobs?"

Mowbray removed his cap and wiped away the beads of sweat with his forearm, he shook his head and the ends of his moustache curled up in a grin.

"Oh not at all! This is more a passion of mine, my grandson and I volunteer during the weekends."

A bird soared past them, crash landing in a pile of cans before pinching the shiniest one in its beak and taking off again. Eric followed its ascent; the pungent scent of their city's combined trash was almost visible in waves.

"That must be thrilling for him."

Mowbray shrugged and gazed out at the waste with a sigh,

"It's a working progress."

The gnarling noise of the tractor came to a halt, Mowbray trembled on his legs when landing on solid ground and Eric held out an arm to steady him.

"Thank you chap," the chauffer arched his lower back till it clicked and regarded his visitor with an inquisitive smile.

"So my boy, what can I do for you?"

"You're Hank's chauffer as well as his daughter's?" Eric asked, though it wasn't really a question so much as an opening.

"That I am."

"Things got out of hand during a training practice this morning; our leader isn't too impressed with the damage to his car. Repairs will have to be done as soon as possible."

Mowbray released a mild gasp.

"Oh dear! Well I can always come an-"

"Hank requested that I deal with the situation myself," Eric stated coolly and stared down at the old man, Mowbray was puzzled for a few long moments before his eyes widened knowingly.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, wiping his hands on a pair of dirtied yellow overalls. He hiked one leg up onto the tractor and pulled a pair of keys from a rucksack, they gleamed amidst the grime.

Eric took the keys and turned away with thanks, Mowbray had his hand poised on the ignition when the Dauntless man called out to him again.

"These keys, they're the only pair he has?"

"Oh yes Sir, Hank doesn't go anywhere without my driving him."

Eric's lips curved upwards,

"Thank you, Mowbray."

"Anytime, my boy. I hope you get the car fixed soon!"

Eric tossed the keys into the air and snatched them, following the beaten path back to the centre.

"I'll let you know."

* * *

These quarters had once belonged to a family, hers, in fact. With leadership came power and money, and it seeped into the finery, the silk of her bedsheets, the masterful vermeil mirror on her wall. Hank had been ecstatic and she, seeing the pride in her mother's eyes, had too.

But when the lights went out, and nobody was looking, her skin crawled with the knowledge that these luxuries had come at a price. They were drenched in depravity. When Atala paid the final price, Hank saw the same truth and he fled, bequeathing her this asylum.

She despised this place. However, it was nothing to her own constant self-loathing, and so, she accepted it and allowed it to be a maddening reminder.

Natalie turned the page and pointed to a line adorned in scribbles, she said something about the sub-textual themes. Mila nodded but did not tear her gaze away from the vanity which had come alive with a new memory. A girl sat upon a stool of cerulean blue whilst her mother stood, prying the knots of her curls apart, one by one.

"Why do you love Daddy?"

Atala's hands stilled, a gentle crease between her brows as she pondered an answer.

"Because he makes me happy."

"He's really grumpy," Mila declared, "I don't think I could ever love someone _that _grumpy."

Her mother's laugh was rich and warm as she twisted a ringlet back and pinned it into place.

"He's just having difficulty with work baby, it'll get better soon."

Mila was quiet for moments more; she tilted her head to the side, oblivious to her mother's efforts to tame the curls into submission.

"_Why _does he make you happy?"

She watched Atala braid the remaining sections of hair, the black, panelled jacket she wore was severe but did little to hide her Mother's beauty. Mila was sure she had the prettiest mum in all the world.

"When I first met your father he was a bit mean…,"

"I _told _you he's grumpy!" Mila exclaimed.

"At first he was," Atala nodded, her gaze wistful, "But then I learnt something about him, and he learnt something about me and we found similarities in each other, and soon, we didn't have to say anything because, it's like we were thinking the same thoughts."

Mila's jaw dropped.

"You can read each other's minds?!"

Atala's smile widened as she pinged the band into place.

"Something like that."

"_Cool."_

"-which is why this is such a defining moment in the chapter," Natalie finished.

Mila met her expectant stare blankly.

"Hmm?"

Natalie frowned,

"Is everything alright? You've been very distracted today."

"Are you kidding? I love-" Mila checked the cover, "Dostoyevsky's work. He's my fave."

"What's the main character's name?"

Mila looked at her open mouthed for a second.

"…Bill?"

"Mila," Natalie sighed heavily, "We never find out his name."

"Well then it could feasibly be Bill then," Mila nodded, "I was just using a little of that ol' creative improvisation."

"What's really on your mind?"

"Nothing!" Mila insisted and Natalie watched her curiously for a while longer before turning back to the book.

"Well the story is essentially split into thre-"

"I think I like someone," Mila blurted.

Her tutor looked up from the page with a somewhat relieved smile.

"Is that right?"

Mila propped her fist under her chin and nodded glumly.

"Why does that upset you?" Natalie pushed the work away and clasped her hands together, awaiting the answer patiently. That however came with difficulty as Mila groaned internally at expressing a thought she hardly understood herself.

"Because I'm not sure," she sunk further into her seat and glanced absent-mindedly at the chair he'd frequented before, "I just feel safe around him, but nervous at the same time."

Natalie rose a brow and smiled,

"Sounds like you're surer than you think."

Mila could see the amusement in her gaze and looked down with a grimace; she pulled at the conservative dress which played round her ankles.

"No. The problem is, I see him almost every day but-" she shook her head gently, "I hardly know him."

Natalie tucked back a loose strand of hair and paused in thought, a hand hovering delicately beside her jaw.

"Have you made an effort to get to know him?"

Mila's mouth opened with an instant retort but paused as examples failed her,

"…No."

"Then that's the first step," Natalie assured her, "Spend some time with him, maybe you'll have more in common than you believe."

Mila brightened at the idea, straightening in her seat she retrieved the book they'd been analyzing and opened it to a random page.

"I wasn't expecting encouragement, I thought you might say it'd distract from my studies."

Natalie rose a brow and pointed her to the correct chapter,

"I was young once too, you know."

* * *

A puddle of murky water dribbled out of the spinach upon being speared, Max held it before his face with unconcealed disgust. A snigger sounded beside him and he turned to glare at the source.

"Why can't you sit with your own friends?" Max grunted and dunked the spinach into a sauce that might salvage it. The amusement drained from his teenage brother's face and Ren turned to his meal sullenly. Max didn't really care for an answer and settled with flicking one of his dreads instead, Ren shoved him away and had begun reaching for the sauce in vengeance when Eric sat down. It had been too many weeks of irritable silence and in seeing the sour expression on his friend's face; Max was ready to speak his mind.

"What the hell's eating you, huh?"

Eric passed over the plates and grasped a metal cup, the water went down in seconds and he let it fall against the table firmly.

"More of Hank's dirty work, he wants me to arrange some sort of emergency talk with Dr Abraham tonight," Eric rubbed his temples tiredly, "Must be to do with the last meeting."

Max's face grew cold; he pushed his plate away roughly.

"I didn't hear about no meeting."

Eric ignored his stare and retrieved a smoke; he leaned back and held it to one of the many fiery lanterns that bedecked the walls.

"Really? I'd assumed you couldn't make it."

Max's hands bunched into fists on the table but Eric merely shrugged his shoulders as he exhaled a large plume of smoke. It swirled past his friend's head before dissipating.

"No," Max seethed, "And why would you get invited to this meeting? You're not a leader."

Eric allowed a shadow of smugness to seep into his stare, the ashy embers burned bright before his lips as he exhaled again, flicking the fag nonchalantly.

"Hank asked," he lied smoothly, "I guess the babysitting is working after all."

That did it. A flash of doubt darkened his features, Max's brows creased as he stared down at his plate in concern. Eric twisted the cigarette onto Max's empty plate and made to leave with a look distaste.

"Better run, he wants it done now."

Max's chair scraped furiously across the floor as he stood abruptly.

"Hank can delegate all he wants, but _I'm _still a leader here. I'll make the call."

Eric held his palms out and sank back down,

"Go ahead; it makes no sense to me anyway."

Nodding his head, Max shoved on his jacket and straightened the lapels with a grunt.

"What do I need to tell him?"

"East of The Bridge, 12'oclock."

"That late?" Max mused.

"Hank said it was urgent," he replied flippantly. Max turned and stalked off without another word, evidently still reeling from rejection.

It had really been too easy.

* * *

The night was brisk and black and cloudless.

A slip of moonlight shone down upon the bonnet of Hank's car, which until this moment had been concealed, safe and entirely unbroken. Eric ran his thumb along the edge of the key and then pressed harder until the jagged edge left a fresh imprint. The outline of his reflection was evident in the front window, dark amidst a backdrop of nightlights.

He slid the jacket from his shoulders and took out a watch before throwing it into the back seat, it read 11.20. What quiet there'd been broke when the train shot past, a patrol of soldiers poised on the edge, braced for danger but not truly seeing it. He watched them ride into the distance until they were gone and curled his hand around the car door.

"Where are you going?"

He knew the voice inherently but felt himself tense anyway, irked that despite his stealth, she had tracked him with nimble ease. Eric exhaled heavily and turned to where she stood, a dark dress rippled around her boots and the curls blew victim to the wind, obscuring her face.

"You should be in bed," he sought a softer tone in addressing her, but could only snap as time wasted away.

Mila stepped out from the shadows and gazed over him scrupulously, her eyes narrowed upon seeing Eric's gloved hands, now identical to her own.

"You're going after them aren't you?" she said, her voice dangerously soft, "You were going to go without me."

The watch beeped from the back seat and Mila's attention wavered for a moment before returning, half of her face remained in darkness but her eyes were bright and defiant. He might have smiled; something stronger lurked beneath that soft face, something more than what they'd made.

"I promised to keep you safe."

"You _promised_ that we would punish them," she drew out, "together."

Eric did not answer her, looking instead to the ground as though physically weighed down by duty. The beeping remained ever ardent, demanding his departure; Mila approached cautiously and lifted a hand to his chest.

"That was your promise," she breathed, "You're not protecting me. If you leave, you're taking away my _only _chance to fix what they did…to fix _me_.

He took her hand away from his chest and held it for a few lingering moments before releasing her. A sinking feeling swept through her as he got into the front seat and revved the engine. Eric watched her wide eyed before the car's beams and lowered the window.

"Well? Are you coming or not?"

* * *

Upon reaching the abandoned city, their ride which blended seamlessly into the darkness slowed to a crawl. Mila gazed out of the window, omitting an excited gasp as saw the carousel, a white horse with chipped ears and vacant eyes stared back beneath the grime. Her hand unfurled with the intention to wave but stopped as she caught Eric scanning the streets ahead, his hands snaking along the wheel.

"Who are we looking for?"

"Abraham thinks he's going to be meeting Hank," Eric said, his eyes did not leave the road. "When he's close you keep down until I've got him in the back."

Mila swallowed down her anxiety and indulged instead, in the thrill,

"And then what?"

"Scare him, threaten him," Eric said coolly, and she found herself leaning in at the words. "Get him to talk and then…we let him go."

The feverish excitement which his words had incited disappeared in hearing that, Mila pulled away.

"Why?!" her voice was frenzied at the thought of releasing him when he lay within their grasp.

"Because this isn't something we can rush!" Eric snapped, and Mila felt the anger heavy in her throat as he rushed on, "We have to take our time if we want to-"

"That's bullshit!" she cried, "What do you mean you're just going to _let him go-"_

"I am a Dauntless officer. What do you expect me to…," his words drifted off as they both leaned forward in their seats, following the movements of an approaching figure who was hunched yet rapid in his steps.

"Get down," Eric warned but Mila had already clicked away the seatbelt and shrunk into the footwell. He opened the back door and rolled down the windows slowly.

"What the damned _hell _do you think you're doing calling me out in the middle of the night Hank!" Abraham questioned hotly, peering over the door. Eric looked around and regarded him with an amiable smile.

"Good Evening Doctor. Hank was otherwise engaged tonight, asked me to go in his stead. Please, take a seat."

"The gall of that man," the Doctor looked indignant as he saw the seemingly empty seat in front, "How do you expect us to talk like that you fool? I'll walk around."

"I'd rather you didn't," Eric said placidly, though his eyes flashed with something more.

"Why!?" Abraham croaked, "What've you got there, let me see at once!" He pressed his tall bony frame further into the car and bowed over the front seat. A pair of manic, oddball eyes stared back up at him and the Doctor's vexed expression gave way to one of dread.

He tore himself out of the car with a shout, and began to sprint for the safety of mainland. Eric punched the dashboard with a growl and slammed the door shut. The car roared to life and Mila could not contain a yelp as he drove home with the accelerator, wind streamlined through the crack in the window as they hurtled towards the old man.

Eric yanked the steering wheel left and stopped just before Abraham's feet; the Doctor jumped back, his whole body trembling on frail legs. He glanced around hopelessly for a moment and bolted for the abandoned buildings, desperate for salvation. Eric allowed him a head start, just enough to raise his hopes before accelerating forward again, they both slammed back into their seats at the impact and Mila released a delirious giggle, he looked aside to her with a smirk before skidding the car once more in Abraham's tracks. The old man stopped and hunched over, his chest heaving.

"Come on Doctor," Mila called out sweetly, "We won't bite."

These words only invigorated him and he set off in a stumble, but this time he was heading towards the Ferris Wheel.

"Shit!" Eric pushed open the door and ran after him. Mila began to follow, clutching her skirts up as she went. "Stop!" he shouted back to her, "I've got this!"

She slowed reluctantly and nodded her acquiescence but Eric had already launched himself up onto the first railing of the wheel. Abraham clambered up the momentous structure like a man possessed; his heart pounded as he finally drew in a haggard breath and saw the width and breadth of the city. Eric pulled himself up onto each bar, cautious in his ascent, the old fool was scaling the wheel carelessly and it would only make their trip down more difficult. The wind was fierce against them now and only intensified with height, his fingers felt numb despite his tenacious grip. Abraham was only inches away; Eric reached up to make the final step when a bar snapped above him and the Doctor staggered in the air for a second before falling.

Eric launched out his arm and snatched the old man by his wrist, the Doctor dangled dangerously in the air, his feet scurrying, searching for something solid. They were impossibly high now, and his numb hold on the wheel slipped second by second with Abraham in hand. He pulled the Doctor up who shuddered a relieved gasp with a bar beneath his feet.

Eric reinforced his own grasp and looked down, past the old man, past the wheel creaking dangerously, to the girl staring up at them from afar. She was so small amidst the vast marshland but she was all he saw in that moment, the young woman in black, her hair whipping violently around her face.

His eyes focused in on the man screaming pleadingly and suddenly she was just a shadow in the background, a little girl, victim to the whims of one, ruthless Doctor. Her tortured screams echoed in his mind.

'_That's right Mila, and can you tell everyone who's watching the special mission you're on?'_

The sight of her six years old, writhing and tearing her own skin in agony.

A girl, bent over the body of her mother's corpse, prisoner to her own mind.

'_I can't wait to tell mummy.'_

It was all over in a second, a mere thought and his palm opened, releasing the old man from his grasp. A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air as Abraham fell, his spine cracked upon hitting the wheel's centre and he hurtled limply towards the ground.

And Eric could only stare as Doctor Abraham's body crashed down into the marsh as a pile of limbs.


	17. Rinse

Freak Chapter 17

* * *

This was not the first time she had watched the Doctor die.

She had seen him bound and begging and breathing his last before. This however, was no figment. Mila clawed her fingers into the earthy pillow beneath his head; she pulled down on his bottom lip until his jaw clicked, a perfect picture of agony. The skin along his scalp had ruptured and in its wake left a smattering of blood that seeped into the dirt, and still, any lingering remnant of life pooled from his body as though escaping a sinking vessel. Mila followed its trail, descending into the dips where she knelt; she closed her eyes and inhaled the air greedily.

Boots landed heavily in the distance and she watched Eric approach without haste, as aware as she, of the skin decaying beneath her fingers. What traces of sadistic pleasure she had glanced earlier were absent in his gaze, there was only apprehension left, something akin to fear. Mila watched him observe the corpse from afar, noted the eerie stillness in his gait, this man had never killed before. She cocked her head to the side as he continued to stare gormlessly, then pushed the old man's face until his head lolled to the side, meeting Eric's gaze vacantly.

"We should move him," she told him quietly, impassively.

His nod was almost impercievable when he turned and walked towards the car, the blood marring Abraham's coat glowed under scarlet lights on its reversal. Mila stood as he popped the trunk, the dregs of death were thick beneath her fingernails but Eric didn't even look when he grasped the Doctor's ankles, he didn't seem to look at anything at all. She grabbed hold of the body's forearms and together they lifted, but despite Eric's strength, the weight of the corpse felt increasingly heavy with each step. His arms slipped from her grasp and the body fell, Abraham's skull slammed against the car rear forcefully and Eric released a shuddering exhale before shoving him into the back.

He clicked the boot shut and faced away, his fingers splayed wide along the rough, metallic surface. Mila waited for him to look up and when he did, he met her stare with such an intensity she surmised he might be reading her as intently as she did him. The veins in his eyes pulsed red and there wasn't a word to be said, she could not even offer one of her own, because this was new for her too.

Mila reached out her hand tentatively and Eric stepped away as though burned, holding her gaze for all but another second before turning on his heel. They sat in their respective seats and the constant growl of the car played a reflection on their own surging uncertainty. The journey was long and her seat grew cold and dampened but she did not question his direction.

"I know an abandoned area," he told her hoarsely.

"Okay," she answered, looking out at the receding city, and the battered buildings which rose and fell in what she considered calming disarray.

Newly lain roads teetered out into gravel then dust, the car rocked slightly on its advance upon unsteady terrain. Mila looked closely at the mountains of soil surrounding them, then closer at the littering of objects with protruded from the dirt, cracked plates, discarded clothes, a deflated rubber ball lying limp against a tree.

They crept further into the wasteland, until the trees blurred out any semblance of civilization and slowed to a stop. Eric cut the engine and in doing so rendered the car's beams to flickering sparks, there was only black to be seen now.

Mila relented the reliance on her eyesight and felt instead around the car until she reached its rear. Eric pushed open the boot and she released a sound of surprise when feeling for the body, Abraham's corpse was drenched with blood now and it soaked their hands relentlessly. Mila looked aside to Eric, a glimpse of his face might've calmed her, assured her that they were in this together. But in this darkness, there could only be outlines, she held on tighter as they swung the body into a cavernous ditch, Mila had seen enough of outlines.

She sunk down beside the pit and shoved at the nearest mound of dirt, it fell gracelessly onto the Doctor's body and she felt around for another pile, a pair of shoes hindered her progress. Mila weighed down on the feet forcefully, willing them to join the rest of Abraham's long limp corpse but no measure of force would move them. The sound of steel shrill against steel rang out in the night and Eric produced a blade, glinting momentarily beneath the moon's glow.

He raised his arm and launched the knife into the body's ankle with one swift blow; it took two more to sever the foot entirely. Mila found her breath caught as she watched him transfixed, dots of blood splattered his face upon impact. The hair which he had slicked back imperviously fell forward as he exhaled roughly through his nose, a slick film of sweat coated his forehead and the exposed skin of his arms grew darker under the rain of red, rampant liquid.

Eric's breaths came somewhat laboured in removing the second foot, a sickening crunch had filled the air as he sliced through bone. He shoved the detached pieces into the pit and with it an armful of soil, then he dug his fingers into the dirt and sought out further cover. With desperate almost crazed scrambling of the hands he coated the body until only the barest glimpses of flesh remained, and then he kept going. Mila joined him without hesitation, clawing her hands and running them through the ground rapidly, the mud clung to her skin, slick with blood and sweat.

They scraped and shoved until the ground was firm beneath their fingers and even then they continued to work obsessively, Mila felt blindly for unwanted knick-knacks and buried them as she went. When they emerged, filthy, and frenzied and panting, it appeared no different from any other area of land, no more sinister than the burial grounds surrounding them. But she knew, and so did he, that a man lay beneath them who had spoken hours earlier, who had savoured his lunch and worked the day away intent upon the next.

Mila rose upon heavy legs, and listened for Eric's footsteps as they began towards the car. A light appeared when he pulled open the door and she used it to follow suit. Their drive back to the Dauntless compound was a silent one, and the air weighed thick with the knowledge of what they had just done. After parking the car he retrieved his jacket from the backseat and pressed it against his face, dragging the material down slowly until his skin appeared clean, it was only if one were to look that they'd see the russet stain along his cheek.

Eric shoved his arms into the sleeves and looked her over analytically, clutching her chin between his fingers he wiped the marks away and Mila sought out this moment to speak. Words failed her however, there was not a single one that proved fitting and he offered no expression that might aid her attempts. His strides down into the covert passages of their home were deliberate but not rushed; she matched his pace, grateful that no curious soul should be lurking at this hour. An anxious feeling unfurled in her stomach when reaching her quarters, fear that he should leave now to dwell in this uncertainty, that in his isolation he might deem her the catalyst towards sin.

Eric held the door open and she entered cautiously, then without a moment's delay he followed. She had barely a moment to process her relief when he locked the door and stalked into the bathroom; a light flickered on from within and cast a thin golden strip along her wall. The rest of her quarters remained bathed in shadow, and an abrupt hum sounded out as he started the shower.

Mila did not know how much time passed, not a movement could be heard and there was no steam filtering out through the gap in the door. She approached the room hesitantly, curling her hands around the frame and peering in with, shaky, shallow breaths. Eric's hand braced the wall as he leaned into the shower's spray, he had not removed his dark uniform and it clung to his skin, the water beneath his boots swirled red.

She watched a droplet glide down his nose and fall into the stream below, he did not move, he just stared. Mila did not know what he felt as he stood there drenched, the water beating down on his back, but she found herself seeking it out. He might have watched her enter from his peripheral vision, but he was deadly still and she couldn't have said what compelled her, not when tiles felt wet beneath her feet nor when the shower's spray found her too. Icy droplets rained down with torrential strength, it soaked her hair, slicking it to her skin. Mila released a shuddered sigh at the sensation and looked up, the water poured onto her eyes, and slid down her neck.

She blinked through dampened eyelashes and sought him out, her fingers found his jacket and she tried to take a firmer grip but the numbness had slid into her bones. Her hand grazed over his shakily and Eric was frozen for a moment more before he grasped her fingers in his and slammed her into the tiles. Mila released a choked breath upon impact and it fell cool against his neck, the water continued to rain down, blurring their vision, but she could see a droplet cling to his eyelash before falling. His hand gripped her hip abruptly and she found a flare of excitement when he squeezed there, she pressed a palm to his chest, and it tensed beneath her fingertips as he leaned in.

Eric slid the hand that had supported them into her hair, his nails trailed along her scalp before he gripped a mass of curls roughly, she moaned unreservedly at the feeling. He tilted her head to meet his gaze, eyes dilated with wanting but searching too, for an affinity born from sin. Mila ran her hands further up and along his jaw; he dipped down and ran his lips along the length of her neck, biting down on the sensitive skin above her collar bone.

Her body might have been jelly then, she wanted to sink down but Eric's grip was tenacious and his huge form weighed heavy against hers. Their breaths fell heavy as he kissed and sucked along her neck, and Mila found she could not stop her hands from roving, desperate to feel every inch of cold, wet skin.

He cupped her face in his hands and she found herself doing the same, her fingers raking down through his hair as he pressed his lips to hers. Every touch was impatient and fed by an insatiable desire, she swiped her tongue along his bottom lip and bit down, he groaned, pressing himself closer, his fingers tangling in her curls. He ran his lips hungrily along her jaw, her cheek, her temple, she leaned in to his touch and sucked the droplets of water from his thumb, grazing her teeth against his skin. A flare of arousal shot through her as he groaned roughly in her ear and she sought out his lips clumsily, their mouths clashing together amidst the downpour.

They explored unashamedly, fervidly, until the water beneath their feet ran clear.


End file.
